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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years ago

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Just A Dream Away

Chapter 1/13 read here on ao3!

my piece for @harringrovebigbang!

Art and moodboard from my amazing team, @monochromegee and @shewritesdirty respectively, to come soon!

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Six months. Six months and twelve days.

That’s how long Billy has been in the hospital. In a coma. His health rapidly deteriorating.

After one month it was required he be put on a ventilator. Two and his wounds started getting infected. By month three, the hospital asked that a representative be chosen for him, just in case he didn’t pull through.

Neil Hargrove refused. Barked into the receiver something along the lines of, “What do I care if the boy wanted to go and get himself killed?” It was entirely defensive, his voice cracking as he finished his sentence, but the hospital still never contacted him again, not for updates or bills or anything. His wife was far too busy taking care of one grieving child and a lazy husband already to worry about an additional burden.

All of Billy’s extended family was still in California, had written him off years before they’d even left home for Indiana anyways. The moment his mother walked out the door, nobody else wanted him either, so they were off the table too.

The town of Hawkins had been turned inside out by the deaths of more than thirty community members, some of which were still being reported as missing so many months later. Nobody had the time, or in many cases the heart, to take care of the lone survivor.

That left only one person. The one who’d been taking care of him even before he’d fallen into a coma. The one who’d understood him better than anyone else, who’d given him a chance, who’d loved him more than anything.

Steve gets a call from the hospital, the way he is usually woken up these days. Every other morning, as soon as visitation opens, a nurse calls him for a quick update. The duties of a representative for someone unconscious, for his Billy in a coma.

He’s beyond exhausted, dragging himself to and from Hawkins General day in and day out, sometimes bringing Max or a few of the other kids along with him. Mostly because every day is the same thing, walking through the halls, facing the polite smiles from nurses who deal with this on the daily, don’t understand the way it feels to see the one you love on that bed.

If he does hear anything new, it’s usually not good news. He knows Billy is getting worse, but still he sits in that room for countless hours, watching and waiting for the moment he’s struck with a miracle, and he comes back to him.

The hospital is not quite as patient though, and since about month four of Billy’s hospital stay, they’d been encouraging Steve to consider his wards right to die. After so much time had passed by without signs of improvement, the nurses had started hesitating in the doorway when he was around, and offering kind little suggestions that were supposed to push him towards the decision to let Billy go.

Things like, “It’s not really him anymore, honey.” and, “He’s getting worse by the minute, poor thing.”, and Steve’s favorite, the one that made him leave the hospital in tears, “If he wanted to wake up, he would have done it by now.”

But no matter how true what they were saying may have been, Steve really did not want to hear it. The only reason the thought of letting Billy go had ever crossed the minds of doctors and nurses was because of what was on the news, all these up and coming stories about hospital ethics committees that were popping up all over the country recently.

They were being selfish, willing to let Billy die just because they were scared they wouldn’t be able to stand the heat that would come from keeping an eighteen year old boy on life support for as long as they had. Whether or not they actually thought they could save him was a question for another day.

So they would mail Steve countless papers and claims and pamphlets to try to reason with him, to persuade him that the best thing to do was to kill Billy because they didn’t want to deal with him anymore. It made him sick to his stomach, to think that people who were supposedly trained to help people were so hellbent on giving up on a patient.

He wonders sometimes, if they wouldn’t be so hasty to pull the plug had he been an easier case. If his father was more supportive and his biological mother present, or if the government hadn’t worked so hard to cover up the origin of his injuries. Maybe even if his representative was a nice young woman instead.

But there’s nothing he can do about it, so he just crumples the papers and ignores their premature condolences, and goes to visit Billy at every moment he can.

The drive to the hospital that particular morning feels like it takes a whole day instead of the 20 minutes the route actually is, Steve feeling like he’s suspended in time. It doesn’t seem real, taking the stairs up to the second floor, elevators were a no go after the free fall he took at Starcourt, and taking a visitor sticker and a bunch of papers from the woman at the reception desk.

He’s walked this route more times than he can count, but this time he can feel that something is wrong, different. On the top of the very first sheet the desk lady hands him, in bold black letters, are the printed words “Right-to-Die” and Steve already knows what is coming.

The woman gives him a half sympathetic look and reads off her scripted spiel. “The Hargrove boy has been unresponsive for six months now, with no signs of improvement in his condition. The recently instituted hospital ethics board wants you to seriously consider the contents of these forms.”

The words are so hollow, the look on her face mostly bored. Steve guesses this same speech was probably given to a thousand other people who’d come through this hospital, and it makes him feel nauseated just listening to it, her less than genuine pity as she reads off her clipboard, making it seem like she doesn’t even care what she is asking of him.

“It’s of course among your rights as representative to say no, but we want to remind you that he has no quality of life being artificially kept alive, and it might be best to let him go.”

“No, they told me he couldn’t feel anything. He’s not suffering.” Steve insists, and as much as he believes that he is right, the confidence in his voice is false. This was something he’d been thinking about every day for the last half a year. “You’ve kept him alive this long, right? That’s got to mean something.”

“Still, this is about him. We just want you to think about if keeping him alive is the right thing to do anymore when we can’t be sure what he’s going through. When he isn’t himself.”

Of course this was something he’d considered in his own mind, six months is a long time, and it was inevitable that a few times on his worst days, he’d have to think about pulling the plug. It was just so different hearing this nurse who didn’t know Billy insisting on it, it was just so impersonal, and it made him think about the hospital's greed, and how they probably just wanted to save money on ventilators and open up another bed.

Without saying another word to her, Steve walks away without the clipboard of papers, and off to room B-216. Of course he'd known this was coming. They’d been trying to drop hints since the moment Billy stopped being able to breathe on his own, but he’d been in denial. As long as Billy's heart was still beating, Steve had hope that he would recover if the doctors would just try.

Still, as he sits down in the chair next to Billy’s bed, he decides he doesn’t want to call Max today. He takes the desk woman's advice, as angry as it made him, and takes the time to truly reflect on the boy in that bed, with the feeding tube down his throat, the respirator breathing for him beside his bed, the IV in his neck, there because the veins in his arms had been so overused.

His hair is much longer now, just past his collarbones, but without maintenance, his blonde curls are knotted and dull. His skin is unnaturally pale, his freckles faded to nothing, and his whole body is littered with angry, dark red scars. The hole in the center of his chest still isn’t all the way healed, and the nurses are constantly fighting to keep it free of infection.

When he wakes up, they say he will be in immense pain and that he will have forgotten how to walk and talk and probably even breathe on his own. There was a chance too that his memory will have gaps in it, which could mean anything from forgetting what happened to him in July, to not even knowing his own name.

Basically if, no- when he wakes up, he won’t really be Billy.

Steve had always heard about and seen in the movies coma patients who twitch their fingers or moved their eyes, or who really give any signs of life, miraculously waking up and being themselves again, but Billy, he had only done the opposite.

At some point, he has to accept that Billy won’t be like one of those other patients, and, in the condition he is in, all pale skin and open wounds and zero signs of responsiveness, they were only prolonging his death. They had tried just about everything they could thanks to Steve’s willingness to cover the expenses, and, although he didn’t want to believe it, maybe just couldn’t accept it quite yet, it was, as the nurse had said, time to think about letting Billy go.

Not today though. He’d spend today with him at the very least, trying to push those thoughts to the back of his mind while he still could. The nurses used to say, when Billy had first been admitted and they still thought there was a chance of recovery, that Steve and Max, whenever she could come, should try talking to him, and Steve always did.

He never really has a whole lot to say, not since everything has been calming down recently. There were no more funerals to attend, no more grieving families to take a hot dish and his condolences to. The kids didn’t need him to watch them anymore, and Family Video had decided to lay him off until he didn’t have to make daily hospital commutes and he could work again. Basically, Steve’s entire world was Billy.

So it was only fair that Billy was what he usually talked about, reminiscing about everything they’d gotten to do together before the accident, telling him about what was happening with his sister now that she was getting older, and giving him updates on how many days it had been and how much he missed and loved him. One of the nurses had heard him say that once, seen him lean forwards and press a kiss to Billys forehead, but she had only turned away, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

Today though, it was much harder than usual to think of something to say to him. He always tried to leave all of the bad stuff at the door, didn’t think it would do Billy any good if he could even hear, to be listening to him always complaining or moping about their situation, but with death weighing heavy on his mind, what else was there to think about?

The anger and the remorse and the depression would be for when he went home tonight and downed a whole bottle of Fireball, Billy’s favorite whiskey, and called Robin drunk off his ass at two in the morning to tell her about how terrible he felt.

It was because he loved Billy with all of his heart that he wouldn’t put him through that. Even if it hurt more than anything else to see his love broken down and dying, which was, in Steve’s opinion, the worst thing that had ever happened to him, he always wore a smile on his face every day he walked into that hospital room.

As hard as that was, and as guilty as it made him feel to admit, Billy's sickness wasn’t the only thing making Steve miserable. He had also been through some unimaginable things himself while trapped in the Starcourt mall, and he didn't come out the other side the same.

Nightmares plagued him constantly, so that when he would eventually come back home from the hospital, he didn’t sleep more than fifteen minutes through the night. Being alone for too long warped his perception of reality, made him think everyone he knew and loved was gone, that he’d been abandoned or all his friends killed. He would constantly call to check on them, most of the time drunk and panicking, but they’d stopped picking up after the first few times. There were so many triggers too that could send him back to that night in an instant, where he’d just get stuck again.

And perhaps that is exactly why he can’t let Billy go so easily, because even if it is heartbreaking and makes him feel so empty inside being there with a version of his Billy who couldn’t speak to him or who he couldn’t hold, he was still alive. If he died now, Steve would have nothing. It would be no different from the losses everyone had suffered, the death of the chief of police and at least thirty other community members robbing them of their soundness of mind.

Letting go of Billy would just be another blow, to him and to the tight-knit community who had come so close together after the accident that rocked their little town. You wouldn't be able to tell from the fact that his room was always empty except for Steve or his sister, but the papers had revered him as a hero. Who he’d become after being hospitalized meant his death wouldn't just affect loved ones.

But more than any of that, he just didn’t want to give up on him. Pulling the plug meant sacrificing so many more moments they could have together, losing the chance to move on from what had happened. How could Steve ever know when it was the right time to do that?

When was it safe to say that Billy wouldn’t ever recover, and that they were just stretching out the inevitable? When could he feel right in letting his very best friend and the love of his life die? Deep down, past his initial reaction of shock and heartbreak, he knows he’ll never truly be ready to say goodbye, but that now was that time regardless.

Just like the nurses said, he wasn’t really Billy anymore. Who he’d been was a teenage boy with too much energy to burn, always getting into trouble and always in motion, bouncing his knee, twisting the ring on his middle finger or the locket around his neck, chain smoking cigarette after cigarette. It used to drive Steve insane how he wouldn’t sit still for anything, but now he would give anything just to have that back.

There was no personality left in him, no stupid jokes to cheer Steve up, no pestering his sister and her friends like a big brother does, nothing left in him at all that made him distinctly Billy. Steve wondered if maybe he had already given up.

If maybe, Billy wasn’t even in there at all anymore, and they were holding on to nothing just to feed their own selfishness. Steve wasn’t the most emotional of people, usually panicking before he got upset, but he could feel tears pricking at his eyes now, as he watched the slow rise and fall of Billy’s, or not Billy’s, chest, and listened to the beeps and hums of the machines that kept him going.

He knew what needed to be done. Just not today.

For now, he holds Billy's hand, unmoving and just warm enough that he could tell he was alive, and whispered to him anything that came to his mind.

If Billy could hear him, he knew he was probably tired of hearing the same stories over and over, thinking of Billy waking up and complaining about Steve being too boring made him chuckle to himself. An instant pang of regret tightens his chest, feeling guilty for being happy.

There was a really sweet nurse about the age of his mother who always checked in on him at the same time everyday, like he was the one with tubes and machines sticking out of his body. Her name was Dale, and she always peeked her head into the room around meal times to ask if he had been down to the cafeteria yet. Usually he hadn’t, and sometimes he still forgot to eat anyways, but it meant a lot to him.

Today though, she came all the way in the room, a sad look on her face, and he had to avoid her gaze entirely to keep himself from breaking down, choosing instead to focus on Billy’s slender fingers where he’d laced them through his own.

“Steve, honey, I know this is really hard for you, it’s hard for all of us when something like this happens, but you need to take care of yourself.” She was just being kind, but he wouldn’t hear it.

If this was going to be the last full day he’d ever spend with Billy, he was going to make it count. A soggy sandwich in the dingy old cafeteria wasn’t worth spending a single moment away from the other boy's bedside. He feels vaguely guilty about it, but he ignores the well meaning nurse, even as she says her generic condolences that all of them were trained to say.

He smooths out Billy's hair, brushing the part that always hung in his eyes to the side carefully, something Billy himself had always seemed to do when he was nervous. It reminds him of the time they tried to do each other's hair and Billy taught him how to make a braid, so he tells Billy about it.

When he hears the distant roar of a car's engine from the open window, it reminds him of the first time Billy drove him home in the now totaled beyond recognition Camaro, so he talks about that. A bird landing on the windowsill reminds him of sitting on Billy’s bed and talking about the seagulls and the beaches back in California where Billy had grown up, so he tells Billy that story too. The phone ringing at the receptionist's desk down the hallway reminds him of the time Billy had called him in the middle of the night to invite him out to the quarry, where they’d kissed for the first time and Steve clumsily asked him to make things official, so again, he told Billy all about it.

It's mostly a comfort to himself, keeping his mind off of the reality of the situation, but then the desk lady announces over the overhead system that visiting hours are over, and it’s time for him to go.

They had been giving him a lot of leeway here at Hawkins General, allowing him to visit every single day and sometimes with a 14 year old, which was strictly against the rules of the ICU. The end of visiting hours was a rule they always stood by though, and despite how much it crushed him to leave Billy by himself overnight, he always did it.

On his way out, he grabbed the stack of papers the receptionist tried to give him off of her desk. He would call Susan in the morning and ask her what she thought. He would try to involve her in the choice, since she’d technically claimed Billy as her dependent after her marriage to his father, who had given enough verbal and written agreements that he wanted nothing at all to do with his son while he was hospitalized that his wife could, and had, stepped in.

He went home that night with the thought in his head that this was the last time he’d do this, and by this time tomorrow, Billy would be dead.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#so excited to start sharing!#chapter two will be on tumblr later today!#it’s up on ao3 already if you wanna get ahead!

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max-the-d0g · 4 years ago

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“So like that then...”

Audrey Tindall x reader

Audrey gets the ending she deserves I think

Being Sidney’s assistant is a nightmare, on normal days. But having to go back to the Roanoke house is The nightmare. Being on the set wasn't too bad, nothing too weird happened. You were surprisingly close to the actress, Audrey Tindall. She was sweet and hilarious, and you loved her but would never let her know. You loved being near her, so going back the Roanoke house wouldn't be extremely bad. The only downside is, you won't be in the house with her, you would be in the van with the monitors with Sidney. The schedule you had been given told you that your arrival would be at dawn. So, you couldn’t see the gorgeous blonde or the joyful smiles. Which she sends you whenever you were in the room. she would always greets you with a bear hug during your set hours.

You were driving on the dirt road in the direction of the van that Sidney had sent earlier in the day. In the seat next to you, you acquired some takeout for the guys in the van and some coffee you kept sipping from to keep you awake on the journey, it was Audrey favourite. She told you about it when you went to a cafe with her. Which was the most exciting times of you life. When you arrived at the destination of the van, everything seems off, like someone was telling you to leave. The vibe feels uneasy, making you second guessing coming here.

Hopping out of the car, your eyes zone in on the body on the grass. Scrambling to the body, you see Sidney's covering the grass and a camera beside his head. “What the actual fuck!” You voice raises slightly, gagging at the sight. You look around seeking any sign of what could caused this, blood splats on the van, all over the grass and a few specs on you hand when you rolled the body over. The grass coated in blood.

You fish for your phone in the glove box of the car, “ Shit. Shit Shit. What the actual fuck.” After frantically typing in 911, you get hold of the police. Telling them what you have just encountered. You stay on the phone with them, they inform you not to disturb anything and to stay where you are. You place your hand on your forehead trying to think what evil shit could do this, turning your head slightly to the bushes you see another body. “ Are you shitting me? There's another body? Oh shit, it's Jill.” You say to no one, but the operator replies telling you to keep calm and look for shelter. You look to the van then your car. The van you decided.

Walking in you look around and to see the cameras still on and working fine. Studying one you see Shelby. Dead. “Oh shit,” you mumble. You look at the one in the corner and see Matt in the basement with his head smashed against the concrete floor. “Fuck.”

“Is it safe there, hello Y/N? Is everything okay?” The operator says.“No... I am not fine. Shit, I think they are all gone.”

“Okay, keep where you are. If you hear anything, grab some sort of weapon and hide. I will keep on call until the police arrive. They are 20 minutes away.”

---- After 20 minutes you heard the sirens. A knock is heard after a couple of minutes. “Police! Is anyone in there. Come out now.” “Oh thank god... they are here. Thank you, Dana.” “You are welcome.” she hangs up. “There is a house. There might someone alive.” You mumble to them. Getting into the front of the police car. The rest of the police are already at the scene when you pull up. Some officers near a trap door on the ground and some in the house. Peering towards the house, you see Lee leave. Oh shit, she survived whatever bullshit that has happened. “One survivor.” The officer declares next to you. Where is Audrey? Oh god, She can't be gone. Shit please no, if there's a God up there. Audrey better be alive. “Another one. Two survivors.” You look to the right and see Audrey. You get out of the car and step to Audrey. She doesn't see you, her eyes are zoned onto Lee. “You.” You hear Audrey say. You see Audrey looking at Lee and then the officers gun. No! “Audrey!” You yell, her hand grabs for the gun on the officer, officers around begin to react.“Audrey!” You yell louder. Her eyes find yours and her hands flops at her side. You manage to run to her, gathering her into you. “Oh my god, what the hell happened? Don't answer right away. Ok. Let's get you out of here.” She hugs you back. You capture her soft face looking for any marks and scraps that may litter her face. “That fucking bitch.” She mumbles into your side of your exposed neck, her warm breathe tickling you. After you let go of her face, she pulls you tightly to her. Her body trembles as she steps away from the officers and into a clearing.

An officer gives you a blanket. You wrap her into it, covering her shoulders. “What? Lee... What did she do?”A soft sob leaves Audrey's mouth,“She killed Monet and she tried to kill me.” She mumbles incoherently, her shaky arms tightening around you and a hurt rasp leaves her mouth. “Let's get you away from her and to the ambulance, okay?” Your eyes land on Lee who looks in shock, the police around her try to ask her what allegedly happened. But, she seems not to recall anything.

---

The past couple of days she has been staying at house. Most days she is okay, she is still her bubbly self, making jokes and making you laugh.The night, however, are what hits her worse. She wakes most nights from nightmares, screaming and thrashing around on the bed. The scream are the thing that wakes you up, the gut wrenching screams fills the empty house. You rush to her side to aid her. Always there to comfort her, once she is settled down and calmed you usher her out of the bed to the kitchen for a cup of tea. She snuggles up to you, keeping contact with you. You then, usher her to your room with a warm smile. “Your presence always helps.” She will mutter before she falls to sleep, a content smile gracing her lips.

---

A couple of weeks later, both of you hear that Lee has is been put on trial for murder of at least six people, but she walks free somehow. This issue pisses Audrey off, but also frightens her, knowing a murder is walking free and especially one that tried to kill her and that killed her castmates and friends. She plagued with the though of Lee stalking her and killing her. Lee haunts her thoughts most days, and not leaving when she sleeps. These thoughts keeps the British woman awake, afraid to closer eyes only to open them in a nightmare where she dies brutally. Audrey has began to fear the dark, scared of what lurks there. She's afraid of what lurks in the shadow, most nights she will leave the lights on and try to sleep, only to fail and take a nap whilst you are in the room.

---

Audrey was reading the news of a new court case that Lee has been put on trial for this one being her ex-husband murder. “If she walks free, I'm going freak out. She killed him. It’s apparent.”Audrey mutters,“Her daughter is testifying against her... That is a mum from hell. She witnessed her mother kill her father with a rock.” She adds.“Is she going to prison?”You peer over her shoulder placing your head softly on her shoulder. Audrey looks to your side of your head,“Are you joking me? She blamed her daughters imagination? She walked free again...”Audrey places a soft kiss to your cheek.“She has to be in prison soon.” Looking at her with shock, she looks away and carries on reading. Touching the place, she kissed you feel yourself fall deeper for her. Well, that was unexpected. Lana Winters had asked Lee for an interview after the trials, unbeknownst to the both of you who enjoyed watching her shows. “Y/N, it’s on. Come on, I need to see it. You know I don't miss an episode of Winters.” She yells, you run and sit next to Audrey, her face falls when she sees that Lee is on her screen. “Are you joking me? Her? She's a murderer. Lana could've asked me, Y/N.” She says, a little dramatically. “She might after, who knows maybe you might be her guest next week. Do you wanna keep watching? We could rewatch Billie’s show again if you want?” she ponders for a bit and shakes her head no. Nothing new was heard, other than Lee lying about her encounters and who massacred them. Lana asks her a few questions, “Why did you agree to come to this interview?” Lee believes that they have something in common. Rolling your eyes at the irony, “Yes, killing her son who tried to kill her isn't something you have in common.” Audrey yells at the screen. A question that shocks both you and Audrey is Lana asking Lee, “Where her daughter is.” Lana says she has been missing before the show even started. Audrey looks to you, the shock is written all over her face. She comes closer to you, almost on your lap. “She wouldn't, would she? Kill her daughter? ”You mutter. “If she killed those people and her ex-husband in front of her daughter of course she can.” When she says this, someone bursts through the door on screen.“That's one of them hillbilly incest fuckers, that took me.” She mutters, her voice wavers a bit. Tensing a bit at the mention of it, he knocks Lana out and when he is about to kill Lee he is shot down by an officer. The screen blacks out and text comes up, saying there's a ‘slight problem we will return in a few minutes’. “What the hell just happened?”

You both decided to call it an early night. Walking to your separate rooms you feel Audrey clammy hand around you wrist. “Can you sleep with me tonight?” Freezing a bit, not knowing how to reply. The silence gives Audrey the impression she overstepped, asking too much of you. “Never mind that was foolish. Goodnight, Y/N” “Yes, I will sleep with you.” Relief washes over her after you say it. She grips your hand and ushers you to the bed. “You can take this side. I’ll take the other side.” She points to each side. Both of you are settled in you respected sides, laying there stiff a little stiff. Audrey shuffles closer to you, she rolls onto her side. “You look a bit stiff there y/n. Relax it's just me, we’ve done this before” she whispers. “Sorry, didn't realise.” Rolling over to her, to face the gorgeous woman, you see conflict. A concern expression, almost. “Is there something on your mind, Audrey?” She doesn't look directly into your eyes. “If you didn't shout my name that day, I would have probably either have killed Lee and gone to prison or died,” she mutters. “And I wouldn't be here with you. Someone who makes me content and someone I love dearly. Not like a friend. Knowing you could’ve seen me shot and killed, kills me inside.” Love dearly, not like a friend. Probably like a family member.

“It frightens me that if I didn't have you here. How would I handle anything?” She tears up and chokes on a sob.“Hey, come here,” she scoots into your neck. “Well, you don't have to think about that. I’m here for you that's all that matters. You will get through this whole mess, and you won't be alone. You have me.”You push her closer, your hand rubbing light circles on her back, until her both relaxes.“But I don’t have you.” You frown slightly at this.“What do you m-” You are silenced by a pair of lips, caught off guard at first you don't react. she starts moving away at the lack of reaction, thinking it was rejection. You capture the side of her face pulling her closer to you and kiss back. “So like that then...” You mutter against her lips. She hums in reply deepening the kiss.

#audrey tindall #audrey tindall x reader #ahs roanoke #ahs #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #lana winters #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #cordelia goode x reader #lana winters x reader

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waywardbeanie · 4 years ago

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A Man of Letters - Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: It started as a simple hunt for Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean didn’t realize that this single case would change his life forever. Now they are on the biggest mission of their lives, and without the use of cellphones, the only way he can communicate with the love of his life is through old fashioned letter writing. He has done everything in his power to keep her safe, but will it be enough? Word Count: 7889

Series Warnings: Language, slow burn, angst, smut, alcohol consumption, fluff, SPN typical violence (individual chapters will contain relevant warnings) a little meta Chapter Warning: SPOILER if you have not seen Season 14, humor (Is that really a warning?) and a little bit of sweet.(Always), angst.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series so far, I have loved writing it and watching the characters grow. I appreciate EVERY ONE OF YOU who are taking this journey with me. We are a little less than half way there so BUCKLE UP!

Thank you to my beta @winchest09 and my mind melder, idea bouncer and my cheerleader @whatareyousearchingfordean I would be lost without you both!

MASTERLIST A Man of Letters

If you’d like to be tagged, my list is open. Just send me an ask HERE: **Make sure you check out the playlist, it is updated every chapter and an essential part of the story**

Spotify Playlist : A Man of Letters

Catch up here >>>>>>> A Man of Letters Masterlist

This series is ongoing!

No Gif’s are mine

Dean "I Build Shit" Winchester

PO Box 323

Sioux Falls, SD 57101

Dear Dean,

I decided to go up to the cabin, but don’t worry about sending letters here. I will be back at the bungalow before you mail the next one. I know this job is necessary; we talked about it for a while before you left; I think all of us are just at the end of our rope with how long it is stretching on forever. How did the raids go? I hope that they are turning up something to get this thing moving in the right direction. I’m so glad we redid the inside of the cabin, now that it is entirely different just how we want it, it doesn’t drag up all of my parents' sad memories, only the good ones. Do you remember that we had our first fight here? I think I can count on one hand the number of actual arguments we have had, looking back it seems so silly now, kind of, but I was so angry and hurt, understandably so. Sam and I were definitely on the same team at that time. The snow is beautiful at the cabin right now; you can see about two dozen ice fishermen from the dock. Jody calls about once a week; we chat, and I know she is checking on me; I’m also sure you know she does. One of the other reasons I came up here is to get away from all of the nosy people. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think they are great, but one more question from the older people about if I ‘stopped seeing that nice boy’ or the interrogations from the women who are digging for information, I was going to freak out, so off to the cabin I went. I miss Donna too, but I’m glad you have her there. I’m sure she shared the story when she, Jody and I got drunk when they came down to check on me at the cabin during the spring, when everything was a mess. It was rough at the time, but it was a good weekend with them.

Ugh, these sad-sack letters are killing me. I swear, the next one will be happy; I think all this time away from each other is just hard. Whoever said, “absence makes the heart grow fonder” can kiss my ass because really, all it does is make me miserable or angry, and I hate being either of those things. On a happier note, I drew a picture of the new deck. I think we should build when you come home as you asked me to months ago. I think we should make it larger than the one that is there now. Don’t worry; I can hear you laughing at me saying, “Of course you do” I think I will close for now and bake some muffins so I can include it with this letter. Please tell everyone I said hello, and I’m seriously counting down the days until you get back here. Please stay safe and watch your ass.

I Love You,

Your Initial

20 months ago

Deans POV

After Michael possessed Dean for the second time, he locked him away inside his mind, using the same beer cooler that Michael had created as Dean's happy place to cage him up. Michael never stopped banging, never stopped trying to get through the door. Still, Dean was confident that he had him locked up for good until Billie, now known as Death, came to see him in the bunker to tell him all of his stories in the library now ended the same, with Michael breaking free and using his vessel to burn their world down, all but one. The book that Billie gave him to let him know he had some choices to make.

Dean walked into the library the next morning to find Sam sitting at the table surrounded by books. “Whatcha reading?”

“Looking for stuff on archangels, it’s pretty interesting stuff,” he commented, looking up to face his brother, a determined look resting on his face. “Dean, we will find a way to fix this.”

“You know,” Dean gestured to the table, “I appreciate it, everything you have done, and you are doing.”

“Of course,” Sam smiled thinly, “that’s what we do, we are going to beat this. We have a lot to go through, why don’t you pull up a chair? I could use some help.”

“Actually, I thought I would go for a drive, you know me and Baby and a long stretch of road, and while I’m at it I thought I would go see Mom at Donna’s cabin, then Y/N,” he was glancing through the books on the table, doing whatever he needed not to make eye contact with his baby brother.

“Oh...okay,” Sam stuttered. “Yeah, give me a minute so I can get to a stopping point, and I will gather my stuff so we can go.”

“Well, about that,” Dean stalled, “I was hoping for some, one on one time with Mom and I just need to check on Y/N to make sure she is okay and to let her put eyes on me, so she knows I am too.”

Sam’s eyebrows knitted as he looked at his older brother; something wasn’t right, not to mention that he had Michael banging around in his head, yet, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. “It will be good for you to see them, and I know they both want to see you, do whatever you need.”

Dean pressed his lips together, trying to keep the sadness at bay. “Okay.”

As he walked around the table, he stopped behind Sam and reached around to hug him tightly for just a moment.

Standing up, he patted his shoulder, “Take care, Sammy.”

It was then that Sam began to realize there was more to Dean’s visits then he was telling him. The younger Winchester waited until he heard Baby leave the garage to start his search, hoping that he could find some answers to his brother’s decision to leave the bunker.

“Sam,” Y/N smiled as she picked up the phone.

“Hey Tink, how are you doing?” he asked, but she could hear an edge to his voice.

“I’m good.” She was walking around her newly finished kitchen at the cabin, wiping off the counter before she stopped and set the phone down, putting it on speaker. “You don’t sound so good. What’s going on?”

“Have you talked to Dean?”

“Yeah, Dean called last night," she thought back. "He said he was going to see your Mom, then come here, also that he wanted to work on a few things in the boathouse to clear his head. Why, Sam, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, Tink, I’m worried,” he sighed. “Ever since we locked Michael up, he has been acting strange, and now, he’s packed up and just left when we have so much to do.”

She pulled out one of the stools from the counter and sat down, resting her elbows on the counter and holding her head up with her hands, staring at the phone. “You know how he is, Sam; He hates research when a lot is going through his head, Dean needs to move, that is how he thinks best.”

“I know, it’s just-” she could hear him running his hands through his hair, “he hugged me before he left.”

“Okay…” she scrunched her eyebrows together, “that was nice.”

“Tink, we don’t hug, you know that,” he sighed. “I mean, we do, but it’s literally a life or death thing.”

She covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know, Sam, he will be here late tonight, he is going to have dinner with your Mom first. Have you talked to her?”

“I have, Dean called her and said he would come by because he had a supply run. Maybe you’re right; it could be he needs to work in the boathouse and get moving to clear his head.”

“He and I will talk when he’s here, Sam. If I’m worried or if things don’t seem like they should, I will call you, I swear.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Tink,” he sighed, “talk soon.”

Dean opened the door quietly to the cabin, the only light in the living space was above the stove, giving the area a soft glow. Dean spotted Y/N immediately asleep on the couch. Closing the door softly behind him, he sat down his bag and leaned against the wall, never taking his eyes from her. Curled in a ball, she was facing him; her hair spread on a pillow, Y/N wore a fitted tank top with a pair of plaid boxers that he laughingly referred to as her old man underwear. Her expression was peaceful, with slightly parted lips. He began to wonder if she knew how beautiful she was or how her pure heart had changed his life for the better, but most of all, he questioned if she knew how much he really loved her. Leaving his brother was hard enough, but leaving her would be the most difficult. He wiped at a tear that silently rolling down his cheek, his heart beat painfully in his chest, knowing the anguish that she and Sam would face when they find out he is gone.

“Babe,” she heard Dean whisper, shaking her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” Y/N slowly blinked open her eyes to see him crouched next to her.

“Hey,” she smiled sleepily, “I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep.”

He brushed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her lips. “It’s after 2:00 in the morning; I would have been surprised if you were awake.” He slipped his hand in hers as he pulled her from the couch. “Let’s hit the hay; I'm so tired.”

She followed him groggily as he led her into the bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door behind him as she crawled under the sheets and watched him strip down to his boxers. He pulled down the blankets and slid in, drawing her to his side as she snuggled in and rested her head on his chest, tugging her closer, he kissed the top of her head. Her hand started to roam his chest as she leaned in and ran her lips up his neck to his ear.

He captured her hand with his and stilled it against his chest. “Babe, I really want to, I do, but I’m just exhausted tonight.”

“Okay.”

That is when she knew something was wrong; when Dean had a lot on his mind having sex was always a top priority, it let him forget about everything else. She snuggled back into him, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Both were staring into the dark, lost in their separate thoughts until sleep finally overtook them.

The sun was streaming through the window when Y/N woke up the next morning to an empty bed, reaching over she touched his side to feel the cold material under her fingertips. She strained to listen for a moment, hoping to hear him rattling around in the kitchen, but it was dead silent. A feeling of uneasiness washed over her as she got up and walked to the chest of drawers, pulling on a clean hoodie and pair of shorts. She padded out to the kitchen to start coffee then walked over to the window, peeking through the blinds; Baby was still there parked next to her Jeep, so she knew Dean was around here somewhere. Making her way to the bathroom she washed her face, brushed her teeth and then picked up her phone, to call Sam.

“Hey Tink.”

“Sam,” she greeted, jumping right in, “I think you're right, I don’t know what it is, but something is going on.”

“Yeah,” she could hear the concern in his voice, “I think I should come up; there is some stuff missing from the bunker.”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Just let me try to talk to your brother. I told you I would call, but maybe he needs some time.”.”

“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “Just let me know if anything changes with him?”

“I will, Sam,” she promised, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Right,” Sam agreed, “soon.” She didn’t know the younger brother was already on his way to the cabin. He had his suspicions, and none of them were good.

Y/N laid her phone on the counter and finished making her coffee. Picking up her mug, she headed outside to find Dean. Hearing noises coming from the boathouse, so she made her way toward the dock when the sound stopped, and a moment later, Dean walked out the door, slamming it behind him. The look on his face chilled her to the bone; she couldn’t put her finger on it exactly; it was a mixture of anger, resolution, and sadness. When he spotted her standing in the middle of the yard, mug in hand, he pasted a smile on his face, but she knew, even from where she was standing, that he was pretending for her benefit, the smile never reached his eyes.

“Hey Babe, What are you doing out here?”

“I woke up, and you were gone, I thought maybe you had left, when I saw Baby was still here I thought I would come to find you and see what you were up to.”

“Oh, you know,” he ducked his head so she couldn’t see his face, “just messing around.”

“Anything in particular?”

“No, nothing specific,” he finally looked up, making eye contact. “You know a lot of stuff needs to get done, so I thought I would get a drop on it. Besides-” he opened his arms “-I needed to come see my girl,” he pulled her into him, holding her tight. He closed his eyes, feeling her in his embrace. This is what he was going to think about later when there were no more choices left to make.

She pulled away, looking up at him, her fingers running along the scruff of his jaw as she met his gaze. “Dean, whatever you are going through, whatever you are thinking, you can talk to me.”

He swallowed hard, a pained look sweeping across his face. “You know, everyone keeps asking me how I am, but here's the thing-” he inhaled deeply “-I just don’t want to talk about it, I can’t...please.”

She leaned against him, laying her face into his chest. “If you say so,” she whispered.

Dean kissed the top of her head, lingering for just a moment before leaning back to look at her face. “I’m starving, why don’t we head to that diner in town and grab some pancakes?”

Y/N scrunched her nose, “I’m not really feeling pancakes,” she lied. What she needed was to get in that boathouse to see what the Hell Dean was doing because she knew him well enough to know something was going on, she could feel it in her bones.

“Seriously?” he asked skeptically. “You don’t want pancakes? You love pancakes.”

She shrugged stepping out of his embrace, “I don’t know Dean, I think donuts from the bakery sound really good. Can you go get some?”

“I guess I could,” he hedged, glancing quickly at the boathouse.

“Great!” she smiled turning to walk towards the cabin. “Can you get the apple fritter and jelly kind? You know those are my favorite.”

Stopping at the steps, he bent to brush a kiss to her lips before continuing on to Baby. Cranking the engine, he glanced one more time at Y/N and roared down the driveway. She stood at the bottom of the steps until she could no longer hear the Impala. Setting down her cup on the steps she turned and glanced at the dock.

The blood roared in Y/N’s ears, and her heart banged against her ribcage as she quickly made her way to the boathouse she was praying that she could answer what was going on with Dean in there. It was more than just Michael locked away in his head; she could feel it.

The door opened with a loud screech that made her jump. She rolled her eyes to herself; sneaking around was just not her thing. Snapping the switch on, she saw a large metal rectangular box with symbols carved into it. She stood and stared at it for a moment as she swallowed the bile rising in her throat; it looked like a coffin. Y/N slowly made her way to the container. A few books were sitting on the top; with shaky fingers, she flipped open the first one; it had a picture of a casket matching the one in front of her with a skeleton lying inside; she riffled through the pages, scanning them as the realization dawned on her. It is a Ma’lak box, and it's to imprison archangels. She clamped her hand over her mouth as sour taste hit her tongue, her insides twisting. She slammed the book closed and ran out of the boathouse, making it out just in time to lose her stomach's contents on the dock's side. The dry heaves hit her as she finally stood up, wiping her mouth with her sweatshirt sleeve. Her brain was jumping in a thousand different directions at once.

Dean was going to kill himself. She couldn’t think straight; she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes in an attempt to get her thoughts together. “SAM!” her head screamed. She sprinted toward the cabin; Y/N knew she left her phone in the kitchen so she would call Sam, he would know what to do. As she was almost to the porch, the roar of Baby’s engine came up the driveway; she had run out of time.

She stood on the porch as Dean got out of the car, a white bakery box in hand. His long strides brought him to the bottom of the steps quicker than she could pull herself together. His smile fell as he saw her pale face and watery eyes.

“Babe, what’s going on?” his face filled with concern.

“No, Dean!” she pointed at him, her voice, a mixture of barely contained anger mixed with hysteria.

He set the box down on the steps, the knot in his stomach growing heavier with the apprehension that she knew his secret. “Tell me Y/N,” he rasped.

“I saw it, Dean,” she shakily accused, “what you are building in the boathouse, what you are planning. How could you do this?”

“It needs to be done. Y/N, there is no other choice.” He ran his hand over his face, resigned. “Billie showed me that if I don’t do this, Michael will break free, and if that happens, he will burn this world down, and I can’t risk that.”

“So what is the big plan, Dean?” she threw her hands up, raising her voice. “You and Michael get in that damn box, and we just pick a spot and bury you?”

“Not exactly,” he shook his head, climbing the steps to join her on the porch.

“Then what?”

“I don’t want to-” he reached for her, but she backed up out of his grasp.

“Bullshit!” she exploded. “You do not get to do this, Dean, you do not get to say you would rather I didn’t know, it’s too fucking late for that.”

“Fine,” his anger rising, “ burying me isn’t good enough, I’m going to find someone with a boat to drop me in the middle of the Pacific,” he brushed his hands together. “Done, problem solved.”

“So let me get this straight,” she started, tears streaming down her face, “ you and Michael, trapped underwater, together until the end of time. You know that’s crazy, right?”

“No Y/N” he sighed, “ it’s the only sane plan there is. Michael can’t get out of that box and he will get out of my head, eventually. So this, it’s the only card I have left to play.”

“Fuck that and fuck Billie!” she yelled, stomping her foot. “There has to be another way! Sam can find another way; you don’t have to do this!”

“Listen,” he pleaded, “Sam has tried, you know he has with Cas and Jack too. There is no other way Michael is coming,” he tapped his temple with his index finger. “I can feel that door in my head giving way; I’m out of options.”

“So that’s it,” she cried. “You came out here to build this, stopped by to see Donna and your Mom for what? To say goodbye, and then just leave? You were going to leave and not say goodbye to Sam or me, just disappear? Do you know how unfair that is?”

Anger and regret flashed in his eyes as he ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t have a choice, don’t you see that? You two were the last two people on this earth that I could be around because you are the only two that could talk me out of it, and Y/N I won’t be talked out of it, I can’t.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving, the understanding that she was helpless to stop him washing over her, the pain almost crushing her. “I can’t do this,” she whispered.

“Can’t do what?” he demanded

“I can’t stand by and watch you kill yourself.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Dean lamented sadly. “What do you want from me?”

“You know I have never asked you for anything,” she shot back.

“Then ask for something!” he yelled.

“Fine,” she threw up her hands, pacing on the cabin's porch, “I want you to be safe! I don’t want you to die! I just want you to think about-” she choked out a sob.

“What Y/N?” he grasped her shoulders, stopping her misstep. “What is it that you want? Tell me!”

“Really?!” she shouted, jerking out of his grasp but standing her ground, tears continuing to roll down her face. "You want to hear this now? Well, here it is: I want you to love me more than you want to save the fucking world, okay?”

Dean stepped back, flinching as if she had physically slapped him. At that very moment, he realized she had no idea how deep his feelings for her were. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” she laughed humorlessly, “sorry for what, Dean? Sorry for making me fall in love with you, sorry for pretending that we might have a future together, or are you sorry for throwing it all away to lock yourself in a fucking box to die? Please tell me!” She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t move, which made her cry harder in anger. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her; she struggled for a moment before collapsing onto his chest, her mournful cries shredding him inside as he tried to stop his tears from falling. They stood there holding each other, fearing letting go would mean saying goodbye forever.

When Sam pulled into the drive, Dean and Y/N were sitting on the stoop, both looking out to the woods, her hand resting in his. Dean turned to look at his brother; when their eyes met, Sam knew that whatever was happening was terrible; Dean’s eyes were red-rimmed, jaw clenching, and unclenching. Y/N glanced up, the look of anguish scared him. Getting out of the car, he slowly approached them.

“What are you doing here, Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice raspy and monotone.

“Some things were missing from the bunker,” he replied, “things that I can’t figure out why you would take.”

Y/N exhaled loudly, "Tell him, Dean," her voice flat as she stood up, pulling her hand from his. She walked up the three steps into the house, closing the wooden door quietly behind her.

“Tell me what?” he asked harshly, knowing he would not like the answer.

Dean stood up and began to make his way to the boathouse. “Come on,” he waved, his voice solemn, “I’ll just show you.”

Sam followed his brother into the boathouse, at the sight of the metal coffin, anger and sadness hit him full force. Dean tried to explain the plan to his baby brother, however the more he went into detail, the more infuriated Sam became, frustrated with his brother's willingness to self-sacrifice. .

“So, that’s it, then?” he questioned, “are we even going to talk about it?”

“Why?’ his older brother answered, “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Dean,” Sam appealed, “we know we could die, it’s part of the job, but what you're doing? It’s worse than death. Michael is an archangel; he could keep you alive and buried with him forever.”

Dean lifted a shoulder, defeated. “It doesn't matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t!” Sam yelled. “You are just willing to walk away from all of us, from your family, who want to help you! Aren’t you even scared?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t scared,” he sighed, running his hands over his hair, “but what’s the other option? Michael gets out and destroys everything because it’s all right there in Billie’s book, just like I told you.”

“That's only if we can’t find another way, Dean, there has to be another way.”

“And what is that way, Sam?” Dean asked, resigned, “Tell me.”

Sam threw up his hands, searching for words to fight his case.

“Exactly,” he pointed his finger at his younger brother, “which is why it’s going to be my way. Look, Sammy, you are either with me on this or not. If you aren’t with me, you gotta tell me now; I need to know if you are going to see this thing through to the end.”

“I don’t like it, Dean, there has to be another way, but you will not do this alone. I give you my word.”

“I just don’t need you to get shaky on this or you and Y/N to come up with some plan that isn’t going to work. It has to be my way.”

“What about Cas and Jack or Mom?” Sam questioned, “You haven’t said anything to them; why?”

“I know,” Dean huffed, running his hand along the back of his neck. “I’m just not good at the big goodbye thing; I can’t second guess myself now.”

“Well, Dean,” Sam shook his head, disappointed, “that wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

“You know what Michael wants; you know this is the only way to stop him, so either get on board or let me know now because I’m not going to drag this out.”

Sam looked at his older brother in the eye. “I said I am there until the end, and I mean it, I don’t agree with it, and I think there is another way, but I have your back Dean, always.”

“There is a trailer outback; I’m going to hook it up to Baby, then I need your help loading this box on it. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Sam nodded once, “What about Tink?”

“I don’t know if she is going to come back out of the house.” He rubbed his stubble in thought.

“So, that’s it?” Sam questioned angrily, “You are just going to leave her there, after all of this?”

“No, Sam,” he met his brother's eyes, matching his anger, “I’m going to go in there and do the thing I never wanted to do, I’m going to tell her goodbye.” He choked on the last word, “So, I need you to do me a favor, Sammy.”

“I know what you are going to ask me,” he stated.

“Well, I’m asking anyway, watch out for her, would you? Check-in just to make sure she is alright.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam looked at Dean, his lips in a firm line, “I will, but I’m telling you she isn’t going to be fine, none of us are.”

Dean hooked up the trailer behind Baby, and he and Sam loaded the Ma’lak box, securing it to the trailer. Sam went to gather all of the tools from the boathouse as Dean walked into the cabin. As he entered the front door, it was eerily quiet, Y/N nowhere to be found; he stuck his head into every room checking for her. Dean knew in his gut she was in the bedroom they shared, his stomach sinking just a little bit more with every step to his destination. Stopping in front of the door, he saw her lying on the bed, under the covers with her back to him, staring out the glass wall.

“Babe,” he said softly, she didn’t move, she didn’t acknowledge him, he knew she wasn’t sleeping as he watched her breath. Tiptoeing into the room, he sat on the bed, placing his large hand on her back to comfort her. Instead, she flinched under his touch, which was an arrow to his soul. Standing up, he walked to the other side of the bed, crouching down in her eyesight, he tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him, instead just closed her eyes, silent.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “I have to go.” He watched her face as he said the words, tears leaking from her closed lids soundlessly. Brushing her hair back from her face, he leaned and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded her head once against the pillow, acknowledging his words, squeezing her eyes tighter, afraid to speak for fear she would fall apart.

“Please look at me,” he pleaded, his hand resting on the side of her head, his thumb brushing against her brow. She squeezed her eyes tight and then opened them, her tears glistening off her lashes. Dean wished he hadn’t have asked her, he saw all of the pain she felt in her expressive eyes, which made him physically feel the grief he was causing. Her heartache was going to be what he remembered when he was locked in that box, haunting him for eternity. Dean didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to close himself in that damned coffin. Yet, he didn’t have a choice. Between Y/N and Sam, he was starting to waver. Her watery eyes blinking at him, he smiled sadly. Leaning down, he brushed a soft kiss across her mouth and heard her choke back a sob. Speaking against her lips, he whispered, “I love you, Y/N. You’ll forever be in my heart..”

Standing up, unshed tears in his own eyes, Dean pulled the blanket up, tucking it underneath her chin. Shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, he walked to the bedroom door.

“Dean,” she choked out.

He paused, turning around, she was still facing the window, on a shuttered breath, she spoke, “I will always love you.”

With that, he turned on his heel, the tears finally falling as he made his way to the car and his brother, away from the only woman he truly loved with every ounce of his being.

Dean’s POV

The next three weeks were a whirlwind. Sam talked him into taking one more job before they dropped him in the ocean. Dean knew he was stalling for the inevitable, but what was one more job? Dead bodies with symbols carved in them? Enochian marks, it was right up their alley. They were prophets or more specific damaged prophets because Donatello was in a coma thanks to Castiel, not exactly dead but not alive. They were able to bring Donnie back, again thanks to Cas, he still didn’t have a soul, but there were worse things at this point.

Dean and Sam had fought. His little brother had sucker-punched him, trying to knock some sense into him, accusing him of throwing in the towel and quitting on not only him but Y/N. That they must mean nothing to him after everything that had done together, Sam believes in them, so why doesn’t Dean?

The elder Winchester then made the decision to put the Ma’lak box on the back burner, just for the moment. It was still the only option he could see, but if Sam needed to see this through, he was going to give that to him, how could he not? The younger Winchester was right; after all, they had been through a lot together, how could Dean just quit? He believed in them, in all of them and Hell, Billie might be wrong after all, but one thing he knew for sure is that he could count on his family. Dean made Sam and Cas promise him that if it comes to an end and they have run out of options, they would do what they couldn’t do now, and that was let him go. They had to promise to put him in the box and drop him in the ocean's bottom.

Once the promises were made, they headed back to the bunker, Dean's phone burning in his pocket; he just wanted to hear her voice. Still, until they came to a resolution with Michael, he could not call her; this painful back and forth was never what she agreed to. At this point, she may never forgive him, so he needed to hold tight to see if they could find a solution before he reached out to her again.

A few days after they got back to the bunker, they got some information on a guy who owned a pawn shop who had robbed and killed Bart Kemp, a friend of theirs who was murdered and his place emptied. In the boxes of occult items recovered, he discovered a Baozhu pearl, only one of eight in existence; it was supposed to give you what your heart desires. Dean knew he wanted to throw Michael out on his ass, no more riding shotgun in his head. The brothers knew they were running out of options; this might be their last hope.

When they got home, they decided to try it; if it didn’t work, there was no reason to share it with the rest of the family. Placing the pearl in his hand, he concentrated on Michael leaving; he knew it must be working because the lights went out, and that is when all hell broke loose, in the very best and very worst way possible. In the dark, someone hit them both with the butt end of a shotgun; as the lights came back on, standing in front of them was the one person the brothers ever thought they would see again, their father, John Winchester.

It took them all a few minutes to wrap their head around what they saw as John struggled with the fact that they were so much older than when he was pulled 16 years into the future. Sitting at the kitchen table, they tried to fill their father in on all of the things that happened since he traded his life and the colt for Dean’s life so many years ago. Although in shock and a little awe, John agreed it was all worth it to avenge Mary’s death, but that was the news that would knock John on his ass as he heard Mary’s voice calling to their boys as she entered the bunker.

Seeing his parents see each other for the first time in decades was bittersweet for Dean, that his heart desired to have his family together. Just one person was missing because he didn’t have it in him to call her and disappoint her one more time. He and Sam figured out quickly that bringing their Dad into the future had changed the whole trajectory of history. Sam was a kale eating attorney who gave Ted Talks; Dean was still a hunter wanted by every agency under the sun. They knew the only way to fix this was to send John back to 2003. That is the Winchester way, doing the right thing no matter what the personal cost. They were able to have one meal together before they sent their Dad back, the one meal that they would always remember, although John would recall it as a dream. Mary told John about Y/N during the dinner, although she had yet to meet her, she and Dean had been together almost a year and a half, and Mary saw the joy she brought to her eldest son and wanted her husband to know it too. John pulled Dean to the side before they had to say goodbye for the final time.

“Dean,” his father began, “I never meant for this, for you to live this life, this was my fight never yours, it was my fight with yellow eyes, now look at you, you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you,” he sighed. “You know son, I guess I hoped eventually you would find a life, a normal life, a peaceful one, settle down and start a family of your own.”

“You know, Dad,” Dean smiled sadly, “I have a family.”

John matched his sad smile with one of his own, “I know you do, with Sammy, Jack, and Cas, and it’s a good family.” Reaching out he and grasped his shoulder, “but Dean, you have a chance to have what your Mom and I had, not with all the tragedy that comes with it, but a real-life that you can call your own, with a woman that loves you,” John chuckled, "despite your faults. Your Mom said she is something special.”

“She is Dad; she really is,” Dean choked.

“Well then,” he smiled, “when all this gets figured out with Michael, and don’t you kid yourselves, you two boys will figure it out. You need to go to Y/N and tell her Dean, tell her that the world does not spin without her, because if you don’t, and you try to live this life without her? You will die, maybe not on the outside,” he patted his chest over his heart, “but in here. Trust me, son, I’m telling you this because I lived it. Go to your girl, Dean. You will have a life better than you could ever dream of.”

“Thanks, Dad” Dean's mouth quirked up at the side, tears shining in his eyes, “that means more to me than you will ever understand.”

“I know I didn’t always show it-” John rasped, “because I was too wrapped up in my own revenge, but Dean, I wanted the best for you and Sam always. Now you two have a chance to live your best life, do it, both of you.” He pulled Dean to him and hugged him tightly, “go and live the only life your Mom and I ever wanted for you. I love you, son.”

“You to Dad,” he choked. “I love you too.”

Inhaling deeply, John sniffed as he stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets, "well, I guess we need to get to it then.”

“Yeah,” Dean croaked, hanging his head.

Standing in the library, John hugged his sons, reminding them again how proud he is of both of them and also reminding Dean that he should listen to his old man’s advice. He held Mary’s hand as Sam crushed the Baozhu pearl under a pottery bowl, watching with heavy hearts as John disappeared.

As Dean lay in his bunk that night, he flipped through the pictures of Y/N on his phone. The smile on her face warmed him through the photograph as his father's words repeated through his mind. There was one thing that troubled him. What if this was the time that she could not forgive him? What if this was the thing that destroyed everything they had built together? What if once again he sabotaged his own life for everyone else. If they could figure this Michael situation out, he would call her, no, he would get in Baby and find her because she deserved nothing less and just hoped to God or whoever was listening that she would give him one more chance.

In the next few days, Sam was busy searching through more books to find answers until they got a lead on a demigod who was killing humans and consuming their bodies. Even with Rowena’s help, the gorgon was always one step ahead of him until he left a note for Dean after killing a truck driver, realizing that they couldn’t see Cas. The pounding in his head was getting worse, and Dean was sure if they didn’t find something soon, he would find himself at the bottom of the pacific. Dean just hoped that he didn’t have to fight Cas and his brother on this because he just wasn’t sure he had it in him. He wasn’t sleeping much, so instead, he spent that time dwelling on how different things would be had he made other choices.

He talked to Jody; she and Donna had driven to see Y/N at the cabin. She didn't say too much except that Y/N was surviving. That turned Dean’s world upside down, yet he was helpless at this point to do anything but move forward or take the plunge. Either option did not look appealing to him.

Rowena put on a tracking spell on the demigod and sent Castiel and Jack in first because the Gorgon couldn’t see them; as the fight ensued, Sam and Dean joined in when things went sideways. He was stronger than he looked and got the drop on Dean, smashing his head multiple times against the wall's corner, leaving him unconscious. Jack was able to behead the demigod before his escape and used his powers to save Cas because Rowena's anti-venom did not work on angels.

They made their way back to the bunker from New Mexico, Dean never regaining consciousness. When he finally woke up, he was in a rage, destroying a part of the infirmary. He told them this would happen, and now there would be hell to pay; Michael was gone, broke down the door that Dean had him locked behind in his mind, and now he was gone, now the world would burn. Hearing screams from the war room, they ran to find Michael jumped inside Rowena. He didn’t give her a choice; she wasn’t Dean, but she was strong and a close second, Now Michael was going to take over this world just like he had planned when he came through the rift all those months ago, except this time there was no one to stop him. Or so he thought.

Michael was enjoying causing Dean, Sam, and Cas pain; Jack was unaffected, but that was just a small distraction. Suffocating them, blinding them, causing them pain was just a little game until they suffered a bit before ending them all. Jack had had enough, to hell with his soul burning up; he would kill Michael or die trying. Michael thought he would stop him? He was the son of Lucifer, a hunter, a Winchester! With that, Jack placed his hands on either side of Rowena's head, driving Michael out. As Michael's essence swirled around the ceiling, Jack burned up his remaining soul by torching Michael and ingesting his grace. Michael was dead. It was over, and no one else had to die by Michael’s hand; Dean was free.

The older Winchester’s first thought was Y/N. Michael was dead, sure they had to think about dealing with Jack without a soul, but it couldn’t be that hard, right? He had to get to her to fix this. Dean needed sleep, and he was also worried about how Sam was coping, but they could hold off for a few days, right? He had 10 hours to figure out how to make it up to her as he headed to Castle Rock Lake. He wanted to make her see that Michael was gone and that he was sorry that he had put her through everything, but he was back, entirely himself and would never put her through it again.

By the time he got to the lake, it was early morning, the excitement and trepidation making him almost jittery. As he cleared the trees to the cabin, he looked up to see the door to the cabin slam closed; his heart sunk a little as that was not a good sign. He was tired from the drive, hell he was exhausted from the last three weeks, but his Dad was right, he needed her.

Climbing from the car, he strode up the walkway and climbed the steps stopping in front of the door. He knew his girl well enough that he would bet every dime in his pocket that she was standing just inside with her back pressed up against the door. Laying his palm against the wood, he called to her.

“Babe.”

“No, Dean,” came her muffled reply.

“Come on, Babe, come out here and talk to me,” he tried to reason.

“I can’t do this again.” He could hear her crying. It hurt because he knew it was all because of him, but he was trying to fix it...if she would just let him.

“Y/N, just open the door.”

“No, go away, Dean, I mean it go away.”

Stepping to the door, he leaned his forehead against the heavy wood with a sigh, “I’m not leaving; I will just stand here until you open up.”

“No, you won’t!” she yelled, he could hear the panic in her voice; she knew him, if he said he was going to do something, it would happen. “I will call the cops!” she threatened.

“Really?” he stifled a chuckle. “You are going to call the cops on me?”

There was a moment of silence before she huffed out a “No.”

“Babe, open the door,” he pleaded.

“I’m not opening the door; you just need to go. Seriously, I can't do this anymore, Dean. I don’t want to be just one more of your responsibilities. I just need to figure out how to-” her voice cut off on a sob.

“I just want to see you, so you can tell me to my face that you never want to see me again.”

“Why?” she yelled, banging her fist on the door. “Can’t you just listen and do what I ask?”

“It’s simple,” he almost smiled; he knew that the longer it took her to open the door, the better chance he had of fixing what he had broken. “You open the door and look me in the eye and tell me you're done.”

“You are an asshole!” she screamed as she banged on the door.

“That may be sweetheart,” he chuckled, “ but I’m not stepping foot off this porch until you look me in the eye.”

“Well,” she laughed sarcastically, “You will be out there a long time.”

“Ah, well,” Dean smiled as he turned around and sat down, bracing his back on the door, “you know how stubborn I can be, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

Chapter 14

Tags: @winchest09 @katehuntington @whatareyousearchingfordean @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @superfanficnatural @deanwanddamons @janicho88 @talesmaniac89 @anathewierdo @compresshischest09 @supernatural-bellawinchester @jensengirl83 @this-is-what-im-reduced-to @ellewritesfix05 @moron225 @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @unicornqu33n17 @swinchester27@4fareader @deans-baby-momma @squirrelnotsam @clumsy-nerd104 @sarahbaker2010 @supernatural-love14 @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @angelhearts1012 @nothinbuttrouble2 @cookiechipdough @lady-pswrld @peachyafshawn @notan-applepielife @linki-locks11 @atc74 @divadinag @dvnmbabe @michellethetvaddict @stoneyggirl @fernandaburdasova @smol-and-grumpy @440mxs-wife @abuavnee @krazykelly @malfoysqueen14

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #reader insert #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #slow burn #dean winchester series #a man of letters #waywardbeanie

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phynali · 4 years ago

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more spn discussions, just skip this post y’all

@queerbluebird thanks so much for engaging with my post/reply! i really enjoyed reading your response and i have a long reply here.

i’m responding to your post/reply here rather than reblogging it because honestly that thread is - so long. so very long.

so first -

i agree there is a difference between entitlement and what i would call, not promise, but instead “narrative follow-through”. A story that completely lacks narrative follow-through does end up feeling disappointing, or frustrating, or rage-inducing, depending on what’s happened. to me there’s a fundamental difference between critiquing a story based on follow-through and bad storytelling (which your post aims to do), versus say, creating hashtag campaigns about a character being silenced because and spreading conspiracy theories about a bad dub (among other things honestly).

and also - queerbaiting totally sucks, we definitely do agree on that.

where we disagree, i think are these two core points:

i do not see the narrative build-up that demands a follow-through. i do not see supernatural as having built up to the story that many destiel shippers seem to think was there, and no one has ever been able to point out to me any actual textual reasons that do craft that narrative build-up

i fundamentally do not believe that destiel was ever a queerbait. queerbait involves active intent on the part of creators to tease a ship or queer representation in order to draw in $ from queer audiences without ever making it canon, so as not to alienate straight audiences. so, refering to point 1., i do not see the canon text as having laid the groundwork for a queerbait and those romantic tropes, at least not at any point in the past 7 years. and beyond the canon, the writers and producers and jensen ackles all indicated dean was straight, and that they were not writing a romance. if anyone queerbaited the fans, it was misha collins who kept teasing the possibility, and personally i would argue that was irresponsible of him. but that’s a different discussion altogether and tends to piss people off when it’s framed as such, because misha means a lot to them and it hurts to see the man who validated their feelings get criticized for the manner in which he validated them. so i’m gonna leave that aside.

beyond that, I want to engage with some of your specific quotes:

Supernatural loves to say “wait for it.” And I don’t think it’s entitled to feel betrayed if an author uses their story to say “wait for it” in order to convince you to stick with their story and then delivers the opposite after you do.

May i ask, where was the “wait for it” with destiel? this ties in directly to the queerbaiting. i indicated in my post/reply that while i see it from cas, there’s been little to no hint of any reciprocation of feelings from dean, and if anything the past 7 or so years have driven the point home that it isn’t happening. i personally am not able to see the “Wait for it” and that was the point of my question. without the “Wait for it”, i also can’t see the queerbait.

I asked for specifics and while i totally get not having the spoons, you provided a few:

(off the top of my head for Dean though, the mixtape, his response to Cas’ death at the end of 12, subsequent grief arc, and reaction to Cas’ return in the front half of 13 rank highly. His reaction to Lucifer’s prank call in 15x19 might rate, but maybe just because it’s so recent.)

not trying to be unkind here, but i quite genuinely don’t see any of these examples as framing cas and dean in a romantic light, or as hinting at a “what if”. the mixtape is like.... okay, maybe. i had read that as being symbolic of something else, but i can see wanting to read it from a shipping lens. (i don’t however think i’d read it as baiting or “what if” - it was quite textually not framed that way. shipping, 100%, but canon build-up, not for me).

for the other examples -- grieving for someone you consider family? and being happy when they come back? that’s not shippy to me. i mean - contrast the grief he showed over cas’s death compared to his grief over, say, mary? or, less extreme, charlie? and nothing compared to how off the rails he goes when sam is dead or he thinks sam is. so i -- i just can’t see those as creating a narrative that demands a follow-through. and when your friend who is dead calls your phone? of course you hop to the door - i don’t know what is romantic about that. sam would’ve hopped just as quick if “cass” had called his phone instead.

and look - i see what is fun to ship about all that. if i shipped it, i’d be happily collecting these moments with a smile and grinning to myself about how cute they are and much they mean. but shipping it vs. it being romantically framed in the canon are two fundamentally different things. shipping doesn’t imply narrative buy-in or deliberation from the creator.

moving on, you also spoke at length about 15x18:

15x18 made the sort of statement that drew back even people who did exactly what OP said they should do, turning off the TV years ago. It wasn’t a quiet “if you’re still watching, keep waiting,” so much as a shouted “hey we’re gonna do this thing, watch this!”

i guess destiel fans vs. those of us who don’t ship it really see this as fundamentally different. because you discuss that moment as one which requires follow-through, and say that if this were heteronormative m/f love declaration, there would be that expectation of follow-through. not necessarily reciprocity, but more - more conversation, more acknowledgment, more something.

(i mean - if there was more, but that more was “hey i love you too but only platonically, sorry man” would that be better?)

but no - i actually just... disagree with your point on that front. i can see why you feel the way you do and i acknowledge that it can be read as the start of a conversation. to me though -- and clearly, now that the finale is out, how the writers saw it -- that was actually the end of a conversation. the end of, like you pointed out, 12 years. a 12-year conversation that ends in a gorgeous declaration of love, and specifically how love isn’t about being together, it’s simply about being - it’s about the fact that you love someone, and that feeling alone is the most beautiful thing in existence.

to me, that declaration can only be written and interpreted as an ending. a sacrifice, a declaration, and a goodbye. so - while i kind of expected seeing more people in episode 20 and realize that didn’t happen largely due to covid - i’m not disappointed we didn’t see cas, because that culmination of his narrative (and then knowing he was with jack, after, rebuilding the heaven that he rebelled against and finally completing his narrative circle by fixing all the problems with it alongside the good god he sought to find all along) is kind of perfect.

and i genuinely don’t think if cas was in a female vessel this entire time that that would change. maybe some audience members would feel differently, but i think many of us would see it for the end it was nonetheless. there’s plenty of stories with m/f ships that are one-sided and that character sacrifices themselves for the person they love, so i don’t see why this would be any different (except the bury your gays issue, but that’s a whole other and very real conversation about media tropes).

moving on to the series finale.

As many people have pointed out in praise of 15x20, Sam is the absolute most important thing in Dean’s life, his priority above anything and everything… And yet there, at the actual end of the world, Dean ignores Sam’s call and instead cries over the loss of Castiel. Dean’s loss of Castiel plays in tandem with the loss of literally the whole world. But we’re not to take that as a promise that Castiel means more to this story, or to Dean, than a couple seconds of wistfulness after the dust settles?

I... yeah. i don’t see what this even is arguing. that dean taking a minute to himself to grieve his best friend, who just died in part because dean decided to go hunt down billie (who was literally dying anyway). he’s hurting. there’s nothing about this that’s a promise - it’s an end. it’s grief. it’s the horror of losing someone you care about, and the silence that comes after. it’s fundamentally human in it’s pain. and we, the audience, are invited to grieve with dean.

so I mean - of course cas means more to this story. of course he’s meant more than a few seconds of grief, after 12 years. but just because that’s the last time we see him on screen doesn’t mean we don’t value his story, and celebrate how it too came full circle.

You mention cas as a sort of avatar for a different potential ending for the brothers, and highlight him representing:

An ending where higher powers stop yanking them around and they get to actually live in the life they’ve built for themselves.

So while i never considered cas an avatar for that, i do think we all wanted the brothers to have their freedom. “finally free.” so we can agree on wanting that end. but we disagree on whether it was delivered, i guess? because i feel it was.

you also talk about what you and many other fans conceivably wanted a happier ending to look like. can i -- i’m going to be totally honest. i have not seen a single person who’s critiquing the end saying “i just wanted sam and dean to grow old hunting together with their dog until they retire together and die of old age.”

would that be satisfying to those who are mad about the end? i personally don’t think so, but maybe my opinion is being coloured by the most vitriolic fans i’ve seen. if sam and dean got to have the life they wanted free of chuck, and dean didn’t die, and they kept going (or retired and opened a bar together!). maybe sam still had a kid, but again because romance wasn’t the point, the wife wasn’t important and they left her blurry still so we could interpret ourselves if she was a wife or a co-parent or a surrogate or what. maybe dean has a kid too, with a similar question-mark-wife. maybe we get a few images of them having a holiday with jodie and the girls. and then getting to heaven together in old age, greeting bobby with a beer, and going for a drive.

would that be an end that wouldn’t cause fandom uproar? i would enjoy it, soft an slightly discordant as it would be to me. i prefer the ending we got, bittersweet and heartbreaking though it was, but i wouldn’t be taking to social media to yell about it if we got a softer epilogue, so to speak.

on the other hand... would that still not be enough, at least not for so many of the angry fans? i’m genuinely unsure. it seems to me that so much of the ire is about destiel itself, even if people are pretending it’s about more and other things than that. not everyone, but like, a big portion of them. which leads me to believe that nothing short of dean and cas at least interpretable as together is what they wanted. if every other single thing about the existing finale was the same except that cas was the one to greet dean instead of bobby, and even with the same basic dialogue, without discussing the confession, but they have a lingering smile, and dean leaves to drive and wait for sam with the promise he’ll see cas later -

if everything else stayed the same except who greeted dean, i genuinely don’t believe i’d be seeing almost any critique of the finale on my dash. maybe i’m cynical, but that’s where i’m at.

which is part of why i really struggle to believe that people are engaging in good faith when they critique the finale. because i feel like if it offered them either a) everything they’re purportedly asking for but still no cas and zero hint of destiel, vs. b) every other thing they claim to hate stays the same except there’s a wink and nod to destiel - i believe they would take the wink and nod.

On to some other things you raised:

But how can you know to walk away from a tragedy if the tragedy says “the end won’t be a tragedy, keep watching” right up until it ends in tragedy?

Oh i Get this. I hate thinking i’m consuming fun media only for it to rip my heart out at the end. i’ve literally - well, i’ve had a very unpleasant and distressing experience of this, actually. so i get it. also the opposite: i sometimes feel disappointed when i’m consuming media that is gripping and intense and painful, but then the end is too easy, too soft and happy?

BUT - supernatural never pretended it would have a happy end? the end was so. much. happier. than i ever expected. the Swan Song end was going to have Sam in hell being tortured by lucifer for eternity. according to something i read which i am fundamentally too lazy to link because who knows if it would have turned out this way but -- kripke was apparently going to have Dean jump in the cage with him at that end, if the series ended on S5? the ‘horror’ ending. completely devastating sacrifice for mankind (sam), and completely devastating sacrifice for his brother (dean). just -- oof. even if that wasn’t the plan and the series would’ve ended as the episode did - sam was still in the cage and cas was off waging war in heaven and dean was living every day knowing he was alive and his brother was being tortured.

i’m sorry if you thought you were watching a happier show. i know how much that hurts. that doesn’t mean the story was actually that happy though. sometimes, it’s on us as consumers to acknowledge we were misreading the media. i’ve had to do this. it’s hard, it hurts, but it helps you consume things healthier. i’ve had to do this growing recently, and i’m better off for it.

regarding the specific manner of dean’s death - that’s really not what my post was about and i’m not gonna address it here. i’ve talked about it elsewhere and so have others, and @lovetincture‘s original post spelled it out beautifully, in how human it was. i have feelings on how and why i loved dean’s death, and why it was the absolute opposite of what Chuck’s ending was and what he wanted (no blaze of glory), but i’ll leave those for another time.

They cast aside all the relationships they’ve built. [...] They lost/walked away from the life and home they built in the bunker. Dean got a season 1 death. Sam got a season 1 life.

I feel that there is a very huge difference between regression and progression when it comes to cyclical storytelling. And that difference seems to be missing from the ongoing discussions i’ve seen about this in fandom.

Coming full circle to season 1 does not at all mean that the development is ‘undone’ or that the story has regressed or that anything has been lost or destroyed. It can mean that, if the storyteller doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, but in this case i don’t (personally) feel it’s a fair critique.

Dean’s death might parallel his s1 not-quite death from Faith, but the s15 result of that death is night and day. Dean is no longer alone. Dean does not go up to a lonely heaven filled with bittersweet memories, where even his canonical soulmate and him have wide gulfs between the memories they fill their shared heaven with. Dean dies a hunter, but he dies a hunter who literally saved earth and changed heaven and gets to spend eternity with his brother, side-by-side and together without all the pain and miscommunication, and he gets to see his family and loved ones too. he died having literally made the world so much better.

even without that though?

his story comes full circle, but dean’s character development isn’t about his death, it’s about the fact that in the first several seasons dean could hardly admit he cared without acting like his teeth were being pulled. he was too afraid of abandonment to ask for someone to be by his side. he was too afraid of rejection to let anyone in. and in the end? he asks sam to stay. he tells him that he loves him. he pours his heart out and says all the things that 15 years ago were stoppered in his throat, words trying and failing to claw their way free but his hurt and fears were too deep.

dean is free.

the point of dean’s story coming full circle to season 1 parallels was specifically to highlight this incredible development, not to undermine it. he is different. he is free.

god it makes me tear up just thinking about how happy i am for him despite how gutted i was by that scene??

(i could write a similar analysis for sam, about how he left for stanford to escape his life and how his finale life montage bits were the opposite of that, but honestly this post is long enough already).

Destiel is loosely a part of that promise in the sense that Castiel is a part of that promise. The symbol of free will

You make a super interesting argument about Cas being a symbol of free will. I don’t have much to say about it, because I’m gonna mull it over, because I think it’s kinda cool and I’ve never thought about it.

That’s - all i’ve got. thanks again for engaging. i’m happy to continue the convo if you have questions or want to reblog/reply

(though my followers might hate me omg, i’ve been spamming long spn meta posts for weeks now, it’s just been so confronting to see the ongoing fan reaction on twitter and how divided it is...)

#spn meta #supernatural #supernatural meta #spn #fandom discussions #uhhh what do y'all want me to tag this #it's not wank?#it's an open discussion which i like a lot #hmmm #discourse #i'll just go with that #destiel #kind of #this won't show up in the ship tag because that's not in the first 5 tags so i'm safe i hope #don't wanna be a dick and put this in the ship tag #long post #long post for ts #sorry if there are typos it is almost midnight and i am sleepy

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cecilspeaks · 4 years ago

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172 - Return of the Obelisk

“Nothing lasts forever” is a phrase with two meanings, and they’re both true. Welcome to Night Vale.

All of Night Vale is aglow. There is music in the air. You know what that means, listeners: the Obelisk has returned. It’s been nearly 8 years since the Obelisk last appeared, but it’s right back where it always shows up, in Mission Grove Park over on the east side, right next to the Wailing Pit. But a little bit south of the Memorial Debris Heap. The Obelisk returns every 5 to 10 years, sometimes as long as 50, and it brings with it joy, anticipation, and a deep fear. A terror so deep in the gut that it feels like you’ve eaten too much ice cream, but in all reality, your body is simply bracing itself for death. The Obelisk has always behaved benevolently, but so hast he sun, and we don’t trust that thing fully either, so I dunno. Past performance is not an indicator of future results. Unlike the sun, the Obelisk radiates a soft blue light, but like the sun, the Obelisk makes a lot of noise. In particular, music. The obelisk sounds like a Bach concerto played like a French horn and a theramine from inside a refrigerator. Everyone in town is gathering at Mission Grove Park to see the Obelisk in person, to pay homage to this rare visit, and to confront their fears head on. Hopefully everything works out fine, because there are some cool events I want to get to this weekend, and it would be terrible to have to cancel them over a rogue obelisk.

Let’s take a look at the community calendar, shall we? This Friday night is opening night of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Tony-winning musical “Sunset Boulevard” at the Night Vale Community Theatre. I’m very excited to finally see this show, it’s supposed to be a really lavish production, too. And it’s based on one my all time favorite Billy Wilder films about an aging silent movie star who finds an amulet that lets her travel in time, but whenever she moves through time, she enters someone else’s body and can’t leave until she saves her life. This staging of “Sunset Boulevard” is directed and produced by… oh my god, Susan Willman?? Really? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrhooonestly, this has been a pretty long week and Iiii might need to just rest at home on Friday. I mean I’m not trying to be rude here, but Susan Willman is the worst! Did you know she once judged the chili cook-off, and I came in third? Third! Behind Joel Eisenberg, which is fine, Joel’s an OK cook, but also behind who else? Susan Willman! You can’t be a judge and win first place. I’m also pretty sure Susan used a prepackaged spice mix in that chili. [laughs oddly] I don’t have that verified through a secondary source, but I can confirm, it was oversalted, again. I’m not saying, I’m just saying. Anyway, go see “Sunset Boulevard” on Friday if you want to watch uninspired actors and muddled blocking.

Saturday afternoon is the PTA bake sale fundraiser to send our Academic Decathlon team to a tournament in our state’s capital. The PTA secretary… [sighs] Susan WiIlman, says this money will go toward hotel and bus travel for our brilliant and talented Ac-Dec squad. “Academic Decathlon is about intelligence and perseverance,” says Willman in this overwrought press release. “Ac-Dec is about freedom and fastidiousness. It is a celebration of hard work, and we want Night Vale to show the rest of the state that blah blah blah blah blah,” God she just runs on! I mean yes, Ac-Dec is very cool and I wish our kids well. But chill with the grandstanding! Anyway, go buy a cake to support those amazing students, even though I’m sure Susan will still manage to mess up a box mix.

Sunday is Youth Reprogramming Day at the Night Vale Museum of Forbidden Technologies. Does your child love learning about new gadgets and advancements in technology? Well, come on down to the Museum of Forbidden Technologies on Sunday for a day-long reprogramming event. Docents and curators will engage those curious kids through hands-on unlearning. They’ll take their patented mindwipe beam and point it right at each child’s forehead until all interest in forbidden technology has been removed. Kids love the mindwipe beam, because it smells like grapes, and they don’t feel any pain for weeks after. Youth Reprogramming Day is a family friendly day of discovering that you know too much, and knowledge is treason.

Today’s appearance by the Obelisk is the 19th in recorded history. Little is known about what the Obelisk is, who controls it, or what it wants. Most scientists and historians agree that it was created by subterranean gods millennia ago, and they think its purpose is a type of census for life at ground level. The Obelisk is about 25 feet tall, it is oily and soft like a fresh brick of parmesan cheese, and when it appears, everyone in town carves their name into one of its four sides. We do not know why or when this practice began, it’s simply how it’s always been done. And to question tradition is to admit weakness. When the Obelisk eventually disappears, perhaps today, perhaps several days from now, it will take our names with it. And when it returns, those names will be gone and we will begin the tradition anew. No one knows what happens to those names. Are they simply erased, or are they read and recorded? Is this data mining for some ancient technology startup, or does the Obelisk truly belong to the gods? We only know what happens to one of the names carved on the Obelisk, and for that person, we feel both envy and pity. For while the Obelisk has always behaved benevolently, past performance et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. Route 800 is shut down until 4 PM today, as it has turned into a river. No cars are on Route 800, it’s just water. Rough and choppy, spiking white rapid caps atop nearly black rushing death. Highway officials are investigating the sudden appearance of this river, perfectly overlaying our main thoroughfare in and out of town. Beneath the quickly moving rush of the river, a single fish, probably a bass of some sort. Highway officials are uncertain because they don’t think about fish. Why would they? Highway officials are annoyed that you think so little of their awareness of fish species. They can tell a salmon from a marlin from a mackerel. “See what you made us do?” one highway official said. “We could have been repairing route 800, but you started picking on us for not knowing if that’s a bass or a mackerel or a whatnot. In fact,” the official continued, “we just looked it up on Wikipedia and it’s a bass. And fun fact,” they added, “did you know that bass can grow up to 25 pounds, have four rows of human teeth, and speak Spanish at a first grade level?” The river is now branching out down sides of streets and into neighborhoods. Pavement everywhere is a network of fresh water capillaries through town. Expect delays of up to 10 or 20 minutes, as you try to get to Mission Grove Park. This has been traffic.

The whole town feels like a carnival now with the flashing lights of the Obelisk and it’s crescendo of lively music filling the cool twilight air. We dance, we sing, we revel in togetherness and share our fears of what will happen next. What will the question be? And more importantly, what will be its answer? When every name has been placed upon the Obelisk, then the blue glow of the towering monolith will die away. The entire structure will turn black. All except one name. One name will remain lit on the Obelisk, and that person shall be sent forth to ask their question. They may ask any question they choose and the Obelisk will tell them and only them the answer. No one else will hear this communication. If the receiver wishes to share what they now know, they are allowed to do so.

Many years back, this ritual was more organized. Early Night Vale townships planned a democratic approach to this opportunity: a committee of the Obelisk was formed to decide on the single most important question to ask. This approach came about in response to the super blunder of 1932, when a 6-year-old boy named Bartholomew Thomason was chosen to deliver the question. He asked the Obelisk if he was, quote, “gonna have corn for dinner”. The obelisk apparently said no, because little Bart started crying and the Obelisk quickly disappeared, not to return for almost 10 years. By that time, the committee of the Obelisk was established and they chose the question: “how do you cure cancer?” Ah, this is a good and noble question. But the citizen chosen by the Obelisk was a farmer named Barry McKenney, who tried his best to take careful notes, but a lot of the detailed medical jargon was just too complex for him. The committee tried this question again 6 years later, but the Obelisk refused to respond to any question it had already answered. So Sidney Laynord of Old Time Night Vale, not having a backup question from the committee, asked if his wife Jessica was cheating on him with Gerald Framingham, and the Obelisk said no, but it only said that because Gerald’s actual last name was Framington, so Sidney just messed up.

Over the decades, the committee of the Obelisk asked: “Is God real”? And the Obelisk said yes, but nothing more. After that, they tried to ask questions that would elicit more detailed response. Um, one year they asked: “who planned the assassination of JFK?” and were disappointed to learn that it was a CIA - Fidel Castro – Frank Sinatra triumvirate that conspired to murder our 35th president. This was the most boring answer, but at least it verified what everyone already knew.

By the 1990’s, though, the committee of the Obelisk had kind of fallen out of fashion after years of corporate funding and corruption. See, this controversy exploded in 1997, when the question put forth by the committee, which at the time was headed by the CEO of Pepsico, was: “what’s the best tasting carbonated soft drink on the market today?” The Obelisk’s answer, to the chairman’s great disappointment, was Surge. Today, whoever is called on by the Obelisk is given free reign to ask whatever they choose. However many news outlets regularly publish lists of recommended question, but there is always the risk that someone will ask something frivolous like “what’s Jason Mraz up to these days?” or “where is the body of my missing fahter?” Please, God please, just don’t call on Susan Willman. She will blow it.

And now a word from our sponsors. Are you tired of wrinkled shirts? Do your clothes get static cling? [increasingly angry tone] How many times do you show up to work with your shirt all rumpled and not smelling like seafoam mist? You’re not going to get a promotion looking like that, and while no one deserves anything, you certainly should appear to earn that promotion. You need crisp, clean, non-ionised clothing that smells like seafoam mist. Don’t you wanna smell like seafoam mist?! Try Tide pods. With our special formula of citrus extract, kelp and milk fat, Tide pods can be the all natural solution to all of your laundry problems. You deserve Tide pods, because you deserve that promotion over Michaela, who’s only like 22 years old. What has she ever done to deserve a promotion? What’s Michaela’s deal even? Tide pods. Remember when we seemed like a big problem?

Oooooooo listeners, the Obelisk has gone dark. The music has ceased. The whole town encircles the tower waiting for its declaration for who shall ask the question. In the quiet night, under few start peeking thru the purple sky, we can hear only the sounds of crickets. The Obelisk, so black as to appear cut out from reality, suddenly shines a small blue line. It is a name, it is on the south face and is it… Oh no! No no no, listeners, I don’t know if I can stop this but I will try. Uuuh, let’s go now to the weather.

[“Pros and Cons” by Sugar & the Mint https://www.sugarandthemint.com/]

Welllll it’s too late. She’s asked her question. I’m not sure how I could have stopped this disaster, even if I made it over there before she could ask it. OK, as you know by now, the Obelisk lit up with Susan Willman’s name, and she grinned smugly and did that fake like “who me? What, oh my god!” gesture and then walked on up to the Obelisk. The crowd was calling out questions to her like game show audience trying to help a contestant, no single phrase discernible above the others, and Susan just looked around, her big goofy eyes scanning the people around her, as if she would actually lower herself to listen to their questions. [scoffs] She thinks she’s so high and mighty with her PT officer status and her hit Broadway musical. No no no, Susan’s above us all, just as important as she can be. She waved her arms like wings for quiet, and the audience obeyed, she’s so self-important, so attention seeking. And then she asked her question. The one question we as a town get only every decade or so, and Susan said: “Hey, so what’s your name?” What’s your name?!! God! What a waste! Did she forget we only get one question? The crowd began to boo, or at least I did. I started booing and I am part of the crowd.

The obelisk began to speak only into Susan’s mind and Susan listened closely. She giggled at first, like a little girl hearing a silly joke from a grandfather, and then her tear-filled laughs turned into tear-filled breaths, which eventually became tear-filled sobs. After about three minutes, the Obalisk vanished, and Susan stood alone on the small hill between the Wailing Pit and the Memorial Debris Heap, and she told us what she heard. Or [scoffs] she told us some of what she heard.

Susan said, in an unusually booming authoritative voice: “Whosoever speaks aloud the name of the Obelisk shall become the Obelisk. Whosoever becomes the Obelisk shall live forever. Whosoever lives forever shall know all things. Whosoever knows all things shall be damned. And whosoever hears the name of the Obelisk spoken aloud shall perish.” The crowd parted for Susan as she left the park. They mumbled their disappointment in both the question and its answer. Some spoke with pity, some with disdain, while some thought it was all pretty cool and now. “Much better than last time, when Dave asked who would win the 2013 NBA championships,” said one person. “Dave won a lot of money on that answer, though,” responded another. “He has a yacht now over at the Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area.”

But most everyone whispered their fear for Susan’s power itself. I mean, Susan received a gif today, a cursed cursed gifts. You know what? I think I might go see that “Sunset Boulevard” after all and I love it. I don’t get to tell Susan very often what a visionary theatrical director she is, but I, I, [chuckles] I might even put some stacks down on her cakes Saturday too. Really support that academic Decathlon team. And the spirit of American ingenuity and perseverance, and all that.

Good question, Susan. I’d like to never learn the answer, but good question nonetheless. You’re one of, if not the, best person I know. Thumbs up.

Stay tuned next for our newest game show, “Nothing will ever be the same”.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Bite your tongue. Fun, right?

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transripts #wtnv #episode 172 #return of the obelisk

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nerianasims · 4 years ago

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Billboard #1s 1988

Under the cut.

"So Emotional" -- Whitney Houston -- January 9, 1988

It's either a song about cheating or about being hung up on an ex. She's got a love of her own, but she's "so emotional" with this other guy, and keeps a picture of him by her bed. Um, does the other guy know this? Maybe she needs to have sex with the other guy so she stops being obsessed with the touch of the previous one. It's a dance song, and I like the beat, but it's painfully repetitive in the second half. Also, while I've known the chorus to this song very well since it came out, I thought it was a normal love song until I looked up the lyrics just now. Houston doesn't sing it like she's in any pain -- well, except I bet her throat hurt from the oversinging.

"Got My Mind Set on You" -- George Harrison -- January 16, 1988

Super repetitive lyrics. But the music's really fun, and I love what lyrics there are. I wish there weren't so few, though. "It's gonna take a whole lot of money" harks back to the many Beatles songs where they sang proudly about spending money on women they loved. Still, this is an example of how George was the best solo Beatle eventually. The video's cute, too, and obviously lampshades the idea of George Harrison doing backflips and dancing.

"The Way You Make Me Feel" -- Michael Jackson -- January 23, 1988

Michael Jackson was no Janelle Monáe. On so many levels. In this case, he wasn't anywhere near her artistic standard. This song does have the lyrics "Oh I'll be workin' from nine to five/ To buy you things to keep you by my side," but it sounds more like a Beatles rip-off than a tribute. I actually didn't remember this song at all, and the video is one of those annoying 80s ones that takes an entire minute to start the song. Then Jackson does a whole bunch of "woos" and "ows" and all that stuff he did that worked in moderation. But "moderation" was not what he was doing in 1988. In any way. He actually oversings in this. I turned it off halfway through. And immediately turned to Janelle Monáe's "The Way You Make Me Feel," which I adore.

"Need You Tonight" -- INXS -- January 30, 1988

This is one of my favorite songs. It's incredibly sexy, obviously. I didn't really notice it until I was around 15, and then I NOTICED it. As I got older, the song got better. The lines "You can care all you want/ Everybody does yeah that's okay" have meant so much to me ever since I started dating seriously. Because caring was not what you were supposed to do.

Anyway, this song is phenomenal and I love it.

"Could've Been" -- Tiffany -- February 6, 1988

This song was #1 for two weeks, and all the previous ones from 1988 have been one week. How? It's a heartbreak song that starts with the lyrics "The flowers you gave me/ Are just about to die," which is painfully on-the-nose. They'd probably work in a country song, but this is lite pop, not country. Tiffany occasionally seems to be trying to do some country stuff with her voice, which is smart. But that's not enough. It's not a terrible song, but it does nothing for me. I don't remember ever having heard it before.

"Seasons Change" -- Exposé -- February 20, 1988

Speaking of songs I haven't heard before. I like this one though. The music's pretty interesting, especially the melody. The singing's excellent. And the music behind "seasons change/people change" sounds exactly like some of the music from Persona 4, so I wonder if Atlus' composer was influenced by it, unconsciously or not. It's just a couple notes, though. Lyrically, the song is about being in love now but realizing it might not last. It's good. I'm gonna look up more of their music.

"Father Figure" -- George Michael -- February 27, 1988

The music for this song is great, and George Michael as usual sings wonderfully. But um. There are some kinks that make me run screaming even when they're really mild. "I will be your father figure/ Put your tiny hand in mine" are two of them. So if you enjoy this song, I'm happy for you, it's musically lovely. I will be going to take a shower now.

"Never Gonna Give You Up" -- Rick Astley -- March 12, 1988

There was a time when I would have easily been able to have an opinion on this song. That time was long ago. It's hard to hear as a song now, rather than an internet meme. But I will not give up. (The video has almost 9 million views, sheesh.)

Okay so they're friends and now he wants a relationship. He says "You wouldn't get this from any other guy," which is a total jerkass line. Other than that, the lyrics are -- oh who am I kidding, I can't do this.

"Man in the Mirror" -- Michael Jackson -- March 26, 1988

I try to separate the art from the artist. That's in both positive and negative directions. If I love someone's art, that doesn't mean they're a good person. If I hate it, that doesn't mean they're a bad person.

This song, though -- "I'm starting with the man in the mirror/ I'm asking him to change his ways" -- uh yeah. Liar. And it's wedged in with all this "oh you should care about all the starving kids and homeless people" self-sanctification that Michael Jackson always protected himself with. This song disgusts me.

"Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car" -- Billy Ocean -- April 9, 1988

Speaking of disgust. Yay street harassment! I've never heard anything bad about Billy Ocean as a human being though. But I'm not listening to more than 5 seconds of this song. Gross.

"Where Do Broken Hearts Go" -- Whitney Houston -- April 23, 1988

She's singing to a man she wants to get back together with after they decided they needed some "space." There's a lot of naivete in the song -- "And if somebody loves you/ Won't they always love you?" No. Even if they do still love you, that doesn't mean it will work. But maybe it will. I've never gotten back together with someone after a breakup, though I've been asked to many times (percentage-wise.) I've always had an allergy to it, both because my parents got back together after divorcing and should not have, and because I had a friend who broke up with her boyfriend and got back together with him at least 8 times in the space of a year and I had to keep hearing about it.

So this song doesn't really speak to me. But it's pretty good. Houston sings it well too, reigning in the oversinging until near the end.

"Wishing Well" -- Terence Trent D'Arby -- May 7, 1988

That's an awesome name. The writer of this song said he wrote it when he was half-asleep, which makes sense. "Butterfly tears", okay, just poetry, but you want to fall in love near a well of crocodile tears too? Doesn't that mean you're faking? I like the song though. It's sort of funk, but softer than full-on funk. I like the way D'Arby sings it. The whistling part (keyboard whistling) is very enjoyable. It's a fun song, and one I do remember from the time.

"Anything for You" -- Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine -- May 14, 1988

A pretty breakup song. But, of course, I have an issue. "I can pretend each time I see you/ That I don't care and I don't need you/ And though you'll never see me cryin'/ You know inside I feel like dying." Well that makes his life a lot easier, doesn't it. The whole song is about how she'll do anything to make him happy. Urgh. She needs to tell him to get out of her life so she can make a brand new start.

"One More Try" -- George Michael -- May 28, 1988

Yet another heartbreak song. It's not surprising that I remember so few songs from this year. I feel like I'm back in the 60s before The Beatles again. Though this year is musically better, I'm still bored. Anyway, in this one, the narrator doesn't want to try again, and he keeps addressing the person he doesn't want to try again with as "teacher," which is... a thing. The only time he seems willing to try again is the very last line, which is "Maybe just one more try."

It's slow, it's pretty enough, it would be unbearably boring if George Michael weren't such a good singer. I'm bored anyway. No wonder we ran screaming from anything smacking of this kind of thing in the early 90s. I feel stupid and contagious.

"Together Forever" -- Rick Astley -- June 18, 1988

He certainly had a brand, didn't he? The song title tells you everything you need to know about the lyrics. The song sounds a lot like "Never Gonna Give You Up," but much more boring. A massive drum machine intro can't carry this. I do recognize the chorus, but that's it. The song is fine, really. But that's it. It sounds like a lesser knockoff of "Never Gonna Give You Up."

"Foolish Beat" -- Debbie Gibson -- June 25, 1988

Heartbreak song. Sigh. There's a nice cheesy saxophone that I like, at least. She left him and she regrets it and thinks "I could never love again/ The way that I loved you." Nope, it's never the same. That doesn't mean it's worse. It's often better. I'm not listening to the whole thing, not even in case the sax comes back. The song's too dull.

"Dirty Diana" -- Michael Jackson -- July 2, 1988

It's about some groupie trying to seduce poor widdle helpless Michael. I don't remember ever hearing this song, and it's musically whiny too. Yuck. So much yuck.

"The Flame" -- Cheap Trick -- July 9, 1988

Heartbreak. Song. Again. "You were the first, you'll be the last" oh no they won't. I entirely approve of being honest about heartbreak, but this year is just crushing with the monotony of it. At least there's a beat to this one.

By the way, in the video, the lead singer's hair appears to be made of straw. Ah, the late 80s, when people thought cooking their hair was the way to go.

"Hold on to the Nights" -- Richard Marx -- July 23, 1988

A heartbreak song in disguise. He's in love with this woman but they can't be together. Are they cheating? I don't know. I don't care. It's so boring, words and music both. Even the piano is blah.

Speaking of late 80s hair, it looks like Richard Marx used an entire can of Aqua Velva on his in the video.

"Roll With It" -- Steve Winwood -- July 30, 1988

This was a #1 hit for four weeks, and I know why. It's not boring! Or depressing! It's got kind of an old-fashioned soul sound: Horns, groove, lyrics. When life is too much, roll with it baby. Not profound, but this is a really good song. One I've heard quite a lot, too, on purpose and everything.

Also, Steve Winwood's hair would work fine today. Coincidence?

"Monkey" -- George Michael -- August 27, 1988

This is actually kind of a heartbreak song, but not really. The one he loves has a "monkey" on their back and he wonders if they love it more than they love him. Addiction is my guess. It's a high-energy dance song, though -- it sounds a little angry, not sad at all. I find the melody sort of dull, but at least there's a beat. But I'm sorry, "Why can't you set your monkey free" is an absolutely hilarious lyric, and I can't take this song seriously in any way.

I think I had the hat George Michael's wearing in the video.

"Sweet Child O' Mine" -- Guns N' Roses -- September 10, 1988

Okay, yeah, sort of a heartbreak song, the relationship sounds like it's a mess with "where do we go now?" sung a zillion times. But it's so good. SO good. And it's rock. It's no wonder that it's one of the few songs that have stayed around from this list. It's not some kind of mass-produced pap without personality. Only Guns N'Roses could do this. Great song, I love it, and I love it more knowing what came before it. Man, Slash can play.

"Don't Worry, Be Happy" -- Bobby McFerrin -- September 24, 1988

Yeah, I'm guessing people were horribly sick of all the overproduced depression on the charts this year. A lot of music critics, and other critics, were really nasty about it because of the simplicity of its lyrics and its earworm-ness. And we made fun of the phrase plenty as young teens in the 90s. But now? I think it's pretty good. Philosophically, it's a mess, but the music isn't serious so I don't think we're supposed to take it seriously. And I like a-cappella. It was played way too much back in the day, though.

(Robin Williams is in the video, which made me tear up. Oof.)

"Love Bites" -- Def Leppard -- October 8, 1988

Technically about heartbreak I guess, but I feel like they're lampshading all the songs from this year which may as well have had the same title. Probably not intentionally. I can't take this song the tiniest bit seriously. It's rock, but not with a lot of personality. Any hair metal band from the time with interchangeable bleached blond frontmen could have done it.

I think this guy used an air fryer on his hair.

"Red Red Wine" -- UB40 -- October 15, 1988

One is supposed to hate this song, or was I don't hate it. I was a kid when it came out, the pop reggae appealed to me, and I still find it fun. Neil Diamond, the original singer, likes it. I certainly find it more interesting than anything with Neil Diamond singing on it.

"A Groovy Kind of Love" -- Phil Collins -- October 22, 1988

It's a cover of a 60s song. "Baby, you and me/ Got a groovy kind of love." This version is incredibly slow, and doesn't have any interesting drum work from Phil. It doesn't make me angry, but it doesn't make me anything. It's there. My brain wandered off and I started looking at stuff on the internet while trying to listen to it.

"Kokomo" -- The Beach Boys -- November 5, 1988

I loved this song as a kid and no one is prying it from me. It makes me happy when I feel down. I got the Cocktail soundtrack this is on for Christmas in my stocking 1988 -- me and seemingly every other kid, I think the tape was massively on sale. I loved the soundtrack, and I especially loved this song. I will never see the movie. I always felt that the song was a middle-aged man singing to his middle-aged wife ("pretty mama".) Which I thought was sweet. I figured that's what middle-aged people did, went off on vacations to tropical islands sometimes, even though my parents never did. I want to though.

"Wild, Wild West" -- The Escape Club -- November 12, 1988

"Heading for the nineties," hm? Well one of the lines is "give me, give me safe sex," and safe sex messaging being absolutely everywhere was an early to mid 90s thing. It's always funny to hear someone with an English accent sing about something extremely American. This song does sound like it's heading for the nineties musically, which is good. Only heading toward though. It's okay, but not very interesting. The music is repetitive. I got bored halfway though.

"Bad Medicine" -- Bon Jovi -- November 19, 1988

Your love is like "bad medicine" and he's addicted. Like a monkey on his back. What's with that phrase this year? I don't recognize this song. It's overproduced, it's shouty, there's too much going on, and it feels like it's trying too hard. Nope.

"Baby, I Love Your Way/ Freebird Medley" -- Will to Power -- December 3, 1988

I'm used to the 90s cover of "Baby, I Love Your Way" by Big Mountain. And I don't think I'm being biased when I say the Big Mountain version is significantly better. The lead singer of this one, a woman, is way too breathy and mannered.

The "Freebird" portion is bad. Just plain bad. The man singing is also breathy and there's absolutely no oomph. Also a lite, bouncy pop song in which the woman is singing how much she loves the man and the man's like "no I gotta be free" is blech. It does not work.

"Look Away" -- Chicago -- December 10, 1988

This was Chicago's biggest single. The narrator's ex called him to tell him she's with someone new, and he pretends to be happy for her, but wants her to look away so she doesn't see the tears of a clown -- er, no, that's a better song. Same idea though.

A heartbreak song, but I don't mind it, because it's got some blood to it. It's not slow and there's a real beat. Also Peter Cetera wasn't with Chicago any more, so Bill Champlin's the lead singer here, and he's so much better than Cetera it's ridiculous. Champlin brings some guts to the song, he doesn't sing through his nose, and he sounds truly heartbroken. Worlds better than Cetera. So it's a good enough song, if you're in the mood for that kind of thing.

"Every Rose Has Its Thorn" -- Poison -- December 24, 1988

I never minded this song before at all, but I am so sick of this kind of song at this point. Whine whine whine every cowboy sings a sad sad song. You're no Johnny Cash, dude. He said something wrong, he doesn't know what it was, they broke up and he still doesn't know why -- okay, who does this? Actually wait, I know one person who did this, and he keeps saying he has no idea why either of his wives broke up with him and I do because I was there and they told him they would break up with him if he didn't change. Over and over and over and over. And now he's like "poor me, I don't know why this happened. " He probably doesn't, either. He cannot admit fault.

Anyway, projections of my own personal trauma onto a hair metal band aside, the narrator’s ex is now with someone new and he thinks "I never meant that much to you." Maybe, maybe not. Cowboy, change your ways today.

BEST OF 1988 -- "Need You Tonight" by INXS and "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses. WORST OF 1988 -- "Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car" by Billy Ocean

#billboard number ones #there are a lot this year

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autistic-stedebonnet · 5 years ago

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I can’t thing of a title, sorry

Shirbert fic :D

a teeny tiny bit of angst (Anne gets angry at Gilbert)

happy ending because i can’t do sad stuff

sorry that i can’t do the keep reading thing, it doesn’t work on a mobile device and i don’t have another device i can use tumblr on

enjoy! :)

• • •

There were quite a few problems that came with Ms. Stacy being on a two week trip in Toronto. The first being that well... she wasn’t there. The second problem was that they had a substitute. But there was one more. There was nothing particularly wrong with said substitute, in fact, he was quite a fine teacher. While his ways were admittedly, a bit more conservative, his teaching methods weren’t too much unlike Ms. Stacy’s.

And he wasn’t cruel, not at all. He seemed to enjoy having an air of lightheartedness in the classroom, and would never dream of whipping a student.

He was quick to get to know his temporary pupils, and while he didn’t know a whole lot, it only took him a few hours to memorize names and take down notes. For example, the tall raven haired boy and the sharp little redhead were tied for top of the class. He knew to keep an eye on the slightly meaty brunette boy, but the gun he carried on his back gave that away immediately. And he was quick to notice that calling out the small girl in pink in front of the whole class would only result in tears. No, that wasn’t the problem either.

He was kind, witty, a wonderful teacher, and he seemed to truly enjoy his profession. That was not the issue.

And you can’t really blame him for the comment, he’d made a few similar ones in the past, and it resulted in giggles and a moment of red faces, before the classroom returned to normal. “Miss Pye, i would ask you to leave your note writing for after class, I’m sure Mister Andrews can wait 10 minutes.” That was fine. “Moody Spurgeon, while i don’t doubt that Miss Barry’s hair ribbon is very intriguing, I’d encourage you to focus on the lesson.” Once again, no problems.

The problem was, he hadn’t been there long enough to understand the... relationships between the students. He was well aware of Anne and Diana’s friendship, and the fact that Gilbert didn’t seem to be too close to the other boys, but those were the obvious things. Really, you can’t blame him, even Ms. Stacy was still trying to decipher the not so obvious things. But regardless, whoever the blame belonged to, you can’t turn back the clock.

It happened the Wednesday before his departure, a fine spring day. There’d been no incident, aside from Billy Andrews being 20 minutes late. There was less than an hour left and they were nearing the end of a geometry lesson, when he glanced up from the chalkboard.

He sighed quietly and cleared his throat, to no avail. “Mister Blythe, I’d kindly ask you to focus on the lesson, not the back of Miss Shirley’s head. He expected giggling, and for a swift return to their books, but he was sorely mistaken. There was no laughing, and for a moment it seemed Anne’s hair had fallen in front of her beet red face. This was nothing compared to Gilbert however, who had buried his flustered face in his geometry book as if he’d never seen a sphere in his whole life. A quick glance made it quite clear that not a single pupil was focused on geometry. He pinched the bridge of his nose and silently cursed at himself. Looking at the clock, he waved his hand, releasing the students 20 minutes early.

~~~

The flowers were in full bloom that morning, much to Anne’s delight. They were, by far, more interesting than the lesson. And she’d catch up fine, she always did.

She sighed and sank her chin further into her palms, a smile teasing at the edges of her lips. Finally breaking from her daydream, Anne turned to focus on the chalkboard. She’d grown to like the substitute. He wasn’t a kindred spirit like Ms. Stacy, but he’d do fine for two weeks.

She caught herself glancing over at a certain boy ever so often, but she didn’t like him. She was simply making sure he didn’t finish the problem before her. Nothing else. She turned back to her slate, determined not to look at him anymore, for the rest of the day.

And then it happened.

Geometry was not Anne’s finest subject, but she’d MUCH prefer it to this. And to think! She begun to like this man. She would’ve laughed at such a notion, had she not been more embarrassed than she ever had been or ever would be. This, she decided, was the pinnacle of mortification. She was just sure that Gilbert had been thinking of more creative insults based on her hair, because what else would’ve caused... that.

She didn’t notice the fact that she was staring, blank faced and red cheeked, at the front of the classroom. Nor did she notice the wave of the teacher’s hand, or Diana’s hand on her shoulder. But she had to stand up eventually. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe if she sat there long enough, she’d realize it was all a stupid dream, a nightmare. She pinched herself roughly, about 3 times. Nope, even her wild imagination couldn’t conjure up this.

She’d stood up at some point, she knew that, but only because she was now standing in the coat room. She was vaguely aware of someone attempting to apologize, but she didn’t really hear it clearly.

“Anne?”

That, that was what broke her from her trance. That stupid voice, that sounded just too caring, just too kind. She narrowed her bright eyes up at him, failing to observe how incredibly pink his entire face was. “What.” She practically growled at him, gritting her teeth. “Thinking of more cruel ways to mock my hair?” She sneered at him, quick to mask the glimmer of hope begging to be noticed.

He seemed taken aback, surprised. “What?” He replied, as if offended by her accusation. “No, no of course not, I-“

“I don’t care.” Anne cut him off, hating the fact that she observed the sudden pain behind his eyes. He looked... hurt? No, crestfallen. She shook the thought away. Who was she to care about Gilbert Blythe’s emotions? She turned on her heel and marched out of the school, braids swinging angrily behind her.

Gilbert fought the sudden urge to shoot a glare at the substitute teacher, who was silently packing his things, but backed out to chase Anne down the path. “Anne!”

She sped up her pace, turning into the woods, painfully aware that he’d be beside her soon if she didn’t run. So she did just that. Despite his advantage height-wise, she was swift and nimble, and didn’t find it too difficult to stay ahead of him.

Gilbert gave up when she began running, he wanted desperately to explain, but didn’t think it wise to attempt to rationalize with Anne in this state. He sighed in defeat and began to trudge towards his house.

***

Spring was Gilbert’s favorite season at the moment. With not a single cloud in the sky, the sun was able to peek through the window and trace Anne’s fiery hair in a halo of gold.

Her expression was so intent, so focused, and some might even think it was due to the lesson. The grin she wore told Gilbert otherwise though. Her lips were upturned slightly, and pinker than usual, due to the numerous strawberries she’d eaten at lunch. He wondered if her lips tasted like strawberries. He also wondered how on Earth anyone’s hair could be so breathtaking. Like she’d been crafted from the crimson autumn leaves and wrapped in a snake of fire. Her freckled were like sprinklings of cinnamon, he loved cinnamon.

And he truly didn’t mean to get distracted, or to smile like that. He intended for a quick glance or two, but that failed. He really did blame himself for what the substitute said. The day would’ve gone over fine if he’d been able to focus on the area of a triangle instead. But her hair was so beautiful. And there were leftover petals in it, from the flower crown she’d been wearing that morning. This made him even more sure that she’d been molded from the sun and the sky and the stars that twinkled behind nighttime clouds.

And then he said it. God, why’d he have to say that.

He soon gave up on chasing her through the trees, he didn’t know the area like she did. And besides, Bash and Mary probably needed help with supper.

***

“And she thought i was making fun of her hair?!” Gilbert brought the knife in his hand down furiously, the large potato on the counter victim to his frustrations.

Bash raised his eyebrows. “And what exactly were you doing Blythe.”

Gilbert attempted in vain to seem calm, collected. “N-nothing!” He sputtered.

“So was your teacher suffering from hallucinations?”

“No!” It seemed he was trying to go through both the potato and the cutting board. “Or, yes, no! I had just been...”

“Searching for excuses?”

“Looking out the window! Anne sits very close to the window.”

“Riiight,” Bash mused, grinning. “You weren’t staring at all, not in the slightest.”

Gilbert ignored the comment and continued attacking the cutting board.

***

“The nerve of him!” Anne wasn’t totally sure if she was yelling about the teacher, or Gilbert. “My hair is not a laughing matter.” She decided on Gilbert. She swung her foot at a nearby rock and had the sudden urge to scream when she narrowly missed it. “Really?!” She almost expected the trees to answer her, but wasn’t too shocked when they didn’t.

With a highly dramatic huff, she sat down on a nearby log, splashing mud on her apron. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes but she blinked roughly until they were gone. A small part of her knew that Gilbert wouldn’t mock her hair again, but why else would he be staring at her?

“I’m not going back until that horrid substitute is gone!” She decided, sticking her chin in the air defiantly. “And I actually thought Gilbert was my friend.” She scoffed indignantly and crossed her thin arms over her chest.

“I thought so too.”

Anne leapt up from her spot and yelled in surprise. “What are you doing here!”

Gilbert scratched his neck nervously and focused his gaze on the ground. “Well I was uh, looking for you, to apologize.”

Anne turned until she was directly facing him, her small face rigid with fury. “I don’t need your pity,” she snapped.

“I-I know, I just felt bad-“

“You felt bad huh?” She attempted to gaze at him angrily without staring upwards, a feat which would prove impossible. Anne hated that he genuinely looked sorry, she couldn’t be mad when he was actually sorry.

And she hated how kind his stupid eyes looked. A warm, olive green with flecks of gold and silver, dancing through his irises like stars at twilight. Her face burned as she realized what she’d been doing, and she quickly shook away the thought.

“Yes...” He raised one eyebrow, waiting for the rest of her outburst.

“Well!” Anne hoped that he thought her pink cheeks were from anger, as his obviously were. “I- I don’t, I don’t, I...” She gave up and sank into the grass floor, not even caring enough to shoo away Gilbert as he sat beside her.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“I know,” Anne sniffed quietly.

He looked shocked and fought back a chuckle. “You do?”

“Yea, I guess.” She buried her face further into her arms. “I just needed to blame it on someone, and the substitute is leaving soon.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Both of them had gotten used to silences. It wasn’t awkward though. It was peaceful, warm... safe. They both knew that it was okay to sit beside each other and not say anything, which was a blessing for Anne, who tended to say things she wished she hadn’t.

When her tears had dried and she could speak without a lump rising in her throat, Anne looked up from her position. “Why... Why were you looking at me?”

That was what made Gilbert’s pale skin turn a shade of red deeper than Anne’s hair. She fought the urge to laugh at the sight.

He stared down at his boots and mumbled something incoherently.

“What?”

All she got was more completely unintelligible muttering.

“Sorry.”

He looked up at her with the same stupid eyes he always used. The same stupid expression that made Anne’s stomach do somersaults. But she did not like Gilbert Blythe. At all. She hated how deep and passionate his eyes were. She despised his sharp jawline and his tender smile that for some reason, no one but her ever saw it. And she absolutely could not stand his intellect and his drive. And she was revolted by the way he made her feel. Like everything was right with the world, but also like her stomach was training to be a trapeze artist.

“No, it’s okay.” She didn’t know how long she’d been staring before he said that, and if anyone ever told her, she’d probably sit in that spot in the woods and never leave, due to sheer humiliation.

“Anne,” He breathed tentatively. “I was looking at you, because, because...”

“Because...?” Anne knew full well the answer she was hoping for, but it was purely poetic. She did not like Gilbert Blythe. Not one bit. It was for the sake of romance, not that she felt romantical about him. She just knew that it would make for good writing material. A tale of a terribly handsome but poor man admitting his feelings for the lovely Princess Cordelia and sinking into the depths of despair upon being horribly rejected. She made a note to attempt to make the character of the man absolutely hideous.

“Anne.” The way he said her name, like it truly was something special, so much better than Cordelia. He said it in a way no one ever had, as if it was the most beautiful word he’d ever hear. But she did not like Gilbert Blythe. Okay, maybe she did, but just as friends.

“Yes?” Anne was afraid to say anything else, afraid she’d say something wrong and scare him off, like she always did. A small part of her knew however, that he’d always come back.

“Anne, I was staring at you because... because...” His eyes searched her pale, freckled face. His eyes. They were so full of love that it could’ve come straight from a fairy tale.

And then it dawned on her. “Oh.” She hesitated, looking down at the ground. “Is this a prank?”

“What? Of- of course not!”

“It has to be. Why would anyone like me?!” She felt like crying, she knew Gilbert teased her, but she never thought he’d go this far. “I’m homely, and skinny and redheaded and freckled and I talk far too much and I talk to trees and, and flowers. And I’m far too outspoken, and I’m-“

“You’re beautiful.”

If she had been able to, Anne would’ve laughed.

Gilbert took a deep breath and gently turned Anne’s chin upwards, making eye contact. “And you’re smart, and creative, and yes you’re different, but that’s why I like you. That’s why I’ve liked you since the moment you smacked me with a slate.”

“That was almost 3 years ago.”

“I know.”

“But Ruby. You could have Ruby if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But she’s pretty and she can cook and she has nice clothes and she’s not... me.”

“Anne.”

“Gilbert.”

The sun was rapidly diving beneath the trees and they both knew it. Matthew and Marilla were probably preparing how to scold Anne when she finally got home, but for some reason, even that didn’t deter either of their gazes.

Anne melted into his eyes that she hated. She choked on salty tears and almost broke down when her raised his thumb to wipe them from her cheeks. Anne liked Gilbert Blythe.

“May I walk you home? Marilla’s probably worried sick.”

Anne nodded and stood up, her knees trembling slightly. She let Gilbert loop his arm through hers and almost began walking.

Why must the girl wait for the boy? If I wanted to kiss a boy, couldn’t I just... kiss him?

“Wait.”

Gilbert furrowed his ever expressive eyebrows in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Anne set herself into the ground, determined but more nervous than she’d been in her whole life.

Gilbert didn’t have time to laugh at her ridiculous expression before she’d grabbed his chin and pressed her lips against his. Strawberries.

Anne had always dreamed of kisses. She’d never had one and was sure they couldn’t live up to the books. But in that moment she realized that no book could describe this sensation. Maybe it was a universal thing. Maybe it was because it was Gilbert. But she felt so safe and warm and every worry she’d ever had melted away in an instant. She sank into the feeling, letting him pull her closer, resting one hand on his jawline and the other on the nape of his neck, his raven curls brushing against her knuckles. At first she was afraid she’d made a horrible mistake, but then he’d kissed her back and everything was more than ok.

When they finally pulled apart, neither was fully aware of how long it’d lasted. It could’ve been mere seconds, or perhaps years.

Gilbert traded his longing look for a smirk, and grabbed her slender hand, intertwining it with his own. “Good luck with Ruby.”

Anne winced, just now realizing that she’d have to deal with that. “Oh would you let me be happy for 5 seconds, please.”

“Deal.”

They made it to Green Gables far sooner than either would’ve liked and Anne almost let go of his hand to race up to the house, but he didn’t let go.

“I feel like I should explain to Matthew and Marilla.”

“And you think the first thing they want to see upon me returning home almost two hours late is you holding my hand?”

Gilbert chuckled and scratched his neck. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well then, Bash and Mary are waiting.” She raised her eyebrows. “Gilbert.”

Before she could protest, he leaned down and gave her a quick, mischievous kiss, before waving and sauntering down the dirt road. “Gilbert!” She cried, trying to sound scandalized beneath her foolish grin.

Maybe that substitute wasn’t so bad after all.

#anne shirley #anne shirley cuthbert #anne with an e #awae #shirbert #gilbert blythe #awae fic #awae fanfic #shirbert fanfic #shirbert fic #gilbert blythe x anne shirley #shirbert one shot #shirbert oneshot

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pancakexspacexdragon · 4 years ago

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Long ass post ahead. TL;DR I found an old set of questions and decided to answer them again 7 years later because why not.

1: What are you wearing?

2014: Some Shorts and a shirt I accidentally stole from my brother.

2021: Panic! at the Disco shirt and some running shorts

2: Ever been in love?

2014: Oh yes, sadly...

2021: pfft.

3: Ever had a terrible breakup?

2014: Not technically, but I once had my homecoming date hook up with another girl.

2021: hahahahahaha. Yes.

4: How tall are you? 2014: like 5 foot 1, maybe 2? I dunno.

2021: 5’4”, apparently

5: How much do you weigh? 2014: How about no...

2021: Who’s to say ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

6: Any tattoos? 2014: Yes! I got one on my left shoulder blade not too long ago. I often forget I have it, actually lol.

2021: I’m up to five, and six is planned.

7: Any piercings?

2014: I do. I have double lobe piercings, and my left ear at the top. No non-ear piercings. Those seem uncomfortable to get, tbh.

2021: Uh...double lobe, helix, forward helix, tragus, nose, and septum.

8: OTPs? 2014: Marshall and Lilly on HIMYM. I mean, I think that's what this is asking. Right?

2021: I’m still not 100% sure what this means but I’m doubling down on Marshall and Lilly.

9: Favorite show? 2014: I'm still recovering from the ending of How I Met Your Mother, but I also love Criminal Minds, and the Big Bang Theory.

2021: HIMYM, Criminal Minds, Stranger Things, and Masked Singer.

10: Favorite bands?

2014: I pretty much love anything, so I'll try to shorten it to Love and Theft, Newsboys, t.A.T.u, Beast, and Fun.

2021: My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, twenty one pilots, Maroon 5, Relient K.

11: Something you miss?

2014: Going to the park and just lying in the grass with my friends or crushes. I know, I'm Cheesy.

2021: Not having responsibilities or bills to pay.

12: Favorite Song? 2014: ...why do they even bother asking this? Tbh, “I'll Be” by Edwin McCain, and “Hello, My Name is” by Matthew West

2021: “you should see me in a crown” by Billie Eilish and “no body, no crime” by Taylor Swift

13: How old are you? 2014: Nineteen. I feel old.

2021: ...twenty-six.

14: Zodiac sign? 2014: Aries, barely.

2021: (not) shockingly, I’m still an Aries.

15: Quality you look for in a partner? 2014: Just someone who's willing to go on cheesy dates at the park, and love me for who I am. And a Christian. Yea, I'm one of those people. Sorry...

2021: dude just someone who’s gonna stick with me.

16: Favorite quote? 2014: It's actually a verse. I love Jeremiah 29:11. It's actually part of what's tattooed on my shoulder; right below a cross.

2021: “it do be like that sometimes”

17: Favorite actor? 2014: Uhhhhh. Matthew Gray Gubler, or David Tennant. I love them both :)

2021: Matthew Gray Gubler.

18: Favorite color? 2014: Green, or pink. Depends on the shade and whatnot.

2021: pastels. mostly green.

19: Loud music or soft? 2014: If I'm alone in the car? loud. Anywhere else I enjoy my soft music.

2021: If I’m by myself loud but if there’s others I like to keep it low enough so we can still talk.

20: Where do you go when you’re sad? 2014: My Room, or the park not to far from me. I like parks, if you haven't noticed.

2021: My room

21: How long does it take you to shower? 2014: Uh, probably about 10 minutes.

2021: Either 10 minutes or 45 minutes. There is no in-between

22: How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? 2014: About 30 minutes. I like to sleep tbh.

2021: Maybe 20 minutes at the most. Cutting off all my hair really took some time off my getting ready list.

23: Ever been in a physical fight? 2014: heck no.

2021: hell no.

24: Turn on? 2014: Cute shy smiles, and geekiness. I love someone who I can be comfortable with.

2021: dorks with a lame sense of humor. I am all about the dad jokes.

25: Turn off? 2014: Those guys who try to make you uncomfortable, or act like they're super cool. I guess that would be douches, huh?

2021: the “oh you should smile more” men.

26: The reasons I joined Tumblr? 2014: I was trying to find a place where I could post stuff without my parents seeing it tbh. I like having a place where like 2 people actually know me.

2021: Because where else can I release the true psychotic chaos within me?

27: Fears? 2014: Being abandoned. And darkness, for sure.

2021: Finding out people only stayed in your life out of obligation and not out of their own choice. And spiders.

28: Last thing that made you cry? 2014: The guy I liked totally looked past me and started telling me about this other girl, after I told him how I felt (not RIGHT after, it had been about two months...but still).

2021: My mom manipulated me into showing up to something I didn’t want to because “I should really go visit family”

29: Last time you said you loved someone? 2014: My best friend and I say I love you after we hang up the phone Lol.

2021: Other than normal parent “Love You”��s, it’s probably been about 3 years.

30: Meaning behind your Tumblr name? 2014: I'm short, totally socially awkward in new situations (and with old friends, now that I think about it) and Idk about the fox. I just like foxes, I guess...

2021: There is no meaning. I like pancakes, space, and dragons.

31: Last book you read? 2014: If you don't count my English Lit book, then it was probably "Only the Good Spy

Young" by Ally Carter, but I don't remember.

2021: oh geez. It was probably “George” or “Rick” by Alex Gino

32: The book you’re currently reading?  2014: Nothing yet. I do have that last Gallagher Girl book to read though. I'll probably start it this weekend.

2021: Nothing. But I never got to that last Gallagher Girl book...

33: Last show you watched? 2014: The Big Bang Theory.

2021: The Masked Singer

34: Last person you talked to?  2014: My dad lol. We were watching the NFL draft.

2021: Guy friend of mine. I went to his place for dinner and some video games.

35: The relationship between you and the person you last texted?  2014: Good Friend

2021: hahahahahahahaha. We’re just friends.

36: Favorite food? 2014: Cajun. Blame my grandparents, that's what they cook a lot lol.

2021: Pasta

37: Place you want to visit? 2014: I wanna go to Alaska. Even though I know it's super cold.

2021: Europe. Specially Spain or France.

38: Last place you were?  2014: I honestly left home like twice today, to bring something to my brother at the High school, then to bring him to a friends house. He has a better social life than me.

2021: Friends place to hang out. We played Stardew then ordered wings and watched a movie.

39: Do you have a crush? 2014: Yes. See question 28 lol. Also, there's this other guy who I got close to last year, but I haven't spoken to him in weeks, and it's killing me.

2021: See guy referred to in 34, 35, and 38.

40: Last time you kissed someone? 2014: Never. I have never kissed anyone. Well, besides like a kiss in the cheek from family. Yeah...

2021: wow it’s probably been about three years.

41: Last time you were insulted?

2014: Recently lol. I guess... I don't really pay attention, or care...

2021: I don’t know. Probably recently.

42: Favorite flavor of sweet? 2014: I'm just gonna act like this doesn't exist, cause idk what it's asking.

2021: Chocolate.

43: What instruments do you play? 2014: I can play the French Horn and Mellophone! I also want to learn the flute, but I can't unless I have something to practice lol.

2021: French Horn, Mellophone, and Ukulele. Still want to learn the flute.

44: Favorite piece of jewelry?

2014: My purity ring. If I forget to put it on, I can seriously feel the emptiness, and it bothers me...

2021: My septum ring! I feel like it’s the first piercing I got for myself, and not just something I thought others would like on me.

45: Last sport you played?

2014: Maybe Soccer? Idk.

2021: pfft. Sports.

46: Last song you sang?

2014: “I'll Be” by Edwin McCain. But I really don't sing well, so it doesn't happen much, unless I'm alone.

2021: “You Belong with Me (Taylor’s Version)” by Taylor Swift and I 100% sang it to my dog.

47: Favorite chat up line?

2014: I don't have one

2021: It’s been 7 years and I still don’t have one.

48: Have you ever used it?

2014: Since i don't have one, no.

2021: Nah.

49: Last time you hung out with someone?

2014: I hung out with my future roommate before I left college yesterday.

2021: When I went to the previously mentioned Guy’s house earlier today.

50: Who should answers these questions next?

2014: Well, I guess any of my followers can choose to, if they want.

2021: Bold of you to assume anyone’s actually going to see this.

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sleepykittypaws · 4 years ago

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A Sugar & Spice Holiday

Original Airdate: December 13, 2020 (Lifetime) Where to Watch?: Lifetime will re-air it in this, and likely future seasons, too; It’s also available to purchase on iTunes et al, or you can watch now, with ads, for a limited time, on mylifetime.com (cable login required)

A Sugar & Spice Holiday was another one of Lifetime's marquee 2020 holiday projects, and it shows. Great cast, great script and actual attention paid to telling a diverse, yet still cozy Christmas story.

Lifetime's first Chinese-American Christmas tale (filmed, like most of these movies, entirely in Canada), it featured not only a main cast all of Asian descent—Jacky Lai, Tony Giroux, Tzi Ma, Lillian Lim and Cardi Wong—but also writer Eirene Donohue and director Jennifer Liao.

The diversity behind-the-scenes clearly helped shape some of the movie's best moments, like Lai's "Suzy" calling out the casual racisim of a co-worker, with a blunt, "I'm from Maine." Smart, funny and pointed, without feeling overly message-y.

Wasn't really familiar with Lai before this, but she's sharp, funny and has great delivery, and the first 15-20 minutes of this movie was easily one of the very best of the season.

The movie followed a very traditional formula—successful businesswoman returns home and takes part in holiday baking contest with old crush—but turned it enough on its head to make it feel special, different and true to the characters.

Introducing all the characters by comparing them to cookies was a genius move, that really worked, and I laughed out loud at the scone joke. There was tone of whimsy here that was incredibly charming, and truly endearing

Even the flashbacks, for once, really worked to help establish Nema as a real presence and influence in Suzy's life, though I'm not sure what we're supposed to think when she wakes up with the rolling pin in her arms. Is Ghost Grandma real? Was Suzy sleepwalking?

Even the ubuiqitious baking contest is improved with the addition of Grandma's recipe, and the metaphors about life and happiness. Plus, the rival baker, played by Sasha Hayden, was really making a meal of her villian role and I was there for every intentionally over-the-top moment. Not to mention that Prince Harry ginger cookies are a genius idea.

Unfortunately, love story was probably the least strong part of this story. Both actors were very charming, but they went from supposedly being annoyed with one another to absolutely in love with little expiation showed or given, and while I liked seeing a couple that actually gets together before the very end, and the recreating the Christmas Dance moment was extremely swoon-worthy (minus Giroux's white socks and tennis shoes with a tux look), just didn't see enough about how Suzy went from "Oh no, not him!" to "He's the one."

The whole lost-my-project thing also really didn't seem to go anywhere, and was fairly unecessary. Not to mention unrealistic that she had so little frustration about it.

And, as with every Christmas movie, Sugar & Spice have used more Cardi Wong, here as Suzy’s underused brother. But do have to say the young boy cast as his son was spot in, at least in terms of resemblance, so much so that I tried to look up and see if they were actually related in some way. Anyway, the child actor is Micah Chen, and as far as I can tell, he and Wong aren't relatives, but it was pretty uncanny. I mean…

The ending, where (spoiler alert) Giroux's “Billy” decides to follow Suzy to Australia after she does, in fact, get the big Christmas promotion at work is perfect. A rare you-can-have-it-all moment in these movies that are constantly making women choose between success in their work or personal lives.

Honestly, the somewhat rushed love story is the only reason I'm not giving this one four-paws, but it was still one of my very favorite movies of the season, and if Lifetime could make a dozen movies a year like this and The Christmas Setup—with that quality, attention to detail and cleverness—instead of presenting 34 mediocre or worse movies of which only half a dozen are actually pretty good, they'd kick Hallmark's butt. Because when Lifetime movies work, they're a little fresher, a lot funnier and just the tinest bit more special than anything Hallmark has produced. A Sugar & Spice Holiday is one of those special movies, and well worth a watch.

Final Judgement: 3 Paws Up and now I'm craving pork buns

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hmel78 · 4 years ago

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In conversation with Keith Emerson ...

Keith Emerson (02.11.44 – 11.03.16)

The Father of progressive rock; the man responsible for the introduction of the Moog synthesiser to the ears of the unsuspecting music lover in the 1960’s; and without a doubt one of the 20th and 21st Centuries (to date) most prolific and talented composers of modern classical music. In a career spanning 6 decades, which has earned him notability as a pianist and keyboard player, a composer, performer, and conductor of his own music alongside the World’s finest orchestras; as well as achieving super success with “Emerson, Lake, and Palmer” - 2014 has been no less eventful for Keith Emerson! With his 70th Birthday approaching, Helen Robinson caught up with him for a very ‘up-beat’ chat about (amongst other things) the re-releases of his solo records, a brand new album with Greg Lake “Live at Manticore Hall”, his favourite solo works, and his memories of the times spent writing and recording with ‘The Nice’, and ‘ELP’.

HR : This has been a busy year for you so far Keith! KE : Yes! I’ve been up to allsorts! [laughs]

Music wise – what can I tell you? Cherry Red , Esoteric, have re-mastered and re-released 3 of my solo albums – “Changing States”, another which I recorded in the Bahamas called “Honky”, and a compilation of my film scores which consisted of "Nighthawks”, “Best Revenge”, "Inferno”, “La Chiesa (The Church)”, "Murderock”, "Harmagedon” and "Godzilla Final Wars”.

HR : That must have been a difficult selection to make based on the number of scores you’ve written! Do you have a particular favourite genre of film to write a score for?

KE : Favourite genre? Boy, well, I just love film score composition, you know? When I first started I had been touring with ELP for some years, and we’d toured with a full 80 piece orchestra but it was just too expensive – we had to drop the orchestra and continue as a trio, which was very upsetting for me. I was entranced by what an orchestra could actually do, and found that with doing film music I could work under a commission and have the orchestra paid for by the film company!

It’s always a challenge. I think a lot of composers like to write dramatic music. I like writing romantic music as well – I’ve also written for science fiction where you can let your musical imagination go pretty much where you want, but generally you have to cater specifically to the film. First of all I like to get a good idea of who the producer and director is, and who is likely to be cast as playing the lead roles. I like to read the script – which helps prior to meeting up with the director and producer. When I wrote the music to Night Hawks I was sent, by Universal films, news of a new film to be made by Sylvester Stallone, a new guy at the time called Rutger Hauer, and Billy Dee Williams, also Lindsay Wagner. It was basically a terrorist film – not the terrorism that we shockingly see today – but back then it was the beginning of terrorism and was quite mild by today’s standards, however it was still sort of ground breaking as far as writing the score was concerned.

It’s about vision with film score work.

Although really it’s all about vision with anything you’re writing, and I suppose many of the disagreements that ELP had during their time – of course a lot of it came to wonderful fruition – were not seeing eye to eye because we had such different tastes in music. Ubiquitous I would say – we bounded from one thing to another. Just when you thought it was getting serious we’d want to have some fun and do something light hearted but I’ve always maintained that variation is essential.

I think that’s what helped ELP quite a lot – especially live - in any particular set you had the heavy stuff like “Tarkus” and “Pictures At an Exhibition”, for the guys in the audience, and for the females who attended reluctantly - dragged along by their boyfriend or husbands and just sit there - I mean, I didn’t sit, I was standing and leaping around [laughs] but you couldn’t help notice the glum looking females in the audience wondering when all this was going to be over.

I think when ELP were together as a unit, we managed to meet everybody’s needs. Greg came up with some really great ballads which sort of got home to the feminine heart, like “From The Beginning” – the feminine heart goes “aaah aint that nice” [laughs] and then suddenly you get the bombardment of something like “Karn Evil 9” and it’s like “Oh GOD”!!

HR : I’d like to talk more about ELP, of course, however there’s so much more outside of that unit , which you have been involved with, that has had quite an influence on modern music. You’ve got an extraordinary and fairly extensive discography, which we can pick whatever you’d like to talk about, but I’d like to start with ‘The Nice’ - “Ars Longa Vita Brevis” ...

KE : Ah Yes ‘’Art is long, life is short” - Lee Jackson came up with that title - he’d studied a bit of Latin ... [laughs]

Going back to the 1960’s then – I suppose it was ‘66 when ‘The Nice’ formed – originally as a quartet. Drums, bass, Hammond organ or keyboards, and guitar player. After the first album we decided to move on as a trio, although I did try to find another guitar player. I actually auditioned a guy called Steve Howe, who was considering getting together with Jon Anderson, and Chris Squire and forming a band called “Yes”. Steve was much more interested in getting with the “Yes” guys, so meanwhile ‘The Nice’ continued as a trio with Lee Jackson on bass, Brian Davison on Drums, and myself on Hammond and keys. It was during this time that I was introduced to a new invention designed by Dr Robert Moog, which became the moog synthesiser, so I was the first to introduce that into live performance.

With ‘The Nice’ we had come out of an era called the underground / Psychedelia.

I was very friendly with Frank Zappa and the mothers of invention, and they were really far ahead of their time.

Frank approached me one day, because I was composing and playing with the London orchestras even then, and said ‘’Keith - how do you deal with English orchestras? They’re hopeless!”

And I said ‘’Well, they’re very conservative Frank. If you really want to make it with the London Symphony, or the London Philharmonic - if you really want my advice, I think you should try and change some of the lyrics of your songs. If you’re going to get in front of the London Philharmonic and sing stuff like ‘’Why does it hurt when I pee?’’ obviously these guys are not going to take very kindly to it!” [laughs]

I’d actually done Bachs Brandenburg concerto #3 with a chamber orchestra and had a degree of success in the English charts- around about the same time , Jon Lord [Deep Purple, Whitesnake] was writing his concerto for orchestra too. I’d already written the “5 bridges suite” which I had recorded with ‘The Nice’ at Fairfield hall in London. So basically Jon Lord and I were kind of both struggling with Orchestras and moving along into what came next musically for the both of us – Jon was a very good friend.

I think round about the turn of 1970, I had noticed what Steve Howe was doing and it was very harmonic, whereas ‘The Nice’ - well we were a bit more bizarre, and I listen back to it now and I suppose I have a slight bit of embarrassment about how ‘The Nice’ were presenting themselves.

And back then I’d started looking at bands like ‘Yes’, and there were a lot of other bands too, who were really concentrating on the tunes and the vocal element, so that’s when and why I formed ‘Emerson Lake and Palmer’ - in 1970 - and endorsed the whole sound with the moog synthesiser. It sort of took off, and became known as what we know today as “Prog Rock”. We didn’t have a name for it at that time, we just thought it was contemporary rock. I mean it wasn’t the blues, it wasn’t jazz, but it was a mixture of all of these things, and that’s when we went through.

The first album of ELP, [Emerson, Lake, & Palmer] recorded in 1970; we were still learning how to write together as a unit, so consequently when you listen to it, you’ll hear a lot of instrumentals; mainly because there were no lyrics and there was a pressure on the band to get an album out. For some reason there was an extreme interest in the band - We were to be considered as the next super group after ‘Crosby Stills & Nash’, which we certainly didn’t like the idea of. That album went very well. Unfortunately the record company decided to release “Lucky Man” - which was a last minute thought – as a single, and it took off. My concern was the fact that, OK yeah the ending has the big moog sweeps and everything like that going on – but how on earth do we do all the vocals live? Thousands of vocal overdubs over the top and neither Carl nor I sang. You know - I sing so bad that a lot of people refuse to even read my lips! And as far as Carl Palmer was concerned he had “Athletes Voice” and people just ran away when he sang! It was a hopeless task of actually being able to recreate “Lucky Man” on stage, so eventually Greg just did it as an acoustic guitar solo. It was that one sort of Oasis, in a storm of very macho guy stuff, where the women just went [in a girly voice] “Oh I like that, that’s nice”. [laughs]

So, inspired by that we got more grandiose and put out ‘’Pictures At An Exhibition” – another bombastic piece based upon Mussorgsky’s epic work. For some reason Greg wanted it released at a reduced price because he said it wasn’t the right direction for ELP to go. So we released it for about £1 and it went straight to number 1! Then the record company called up and said ‘’what are you doing? This is a hit record and you’re just selling it for £1??!!’’, so I said ‘’well yeah it’s a bit stupid isn’t it?” – so when it was released in America it was at its full price and ended up nominated for a Grammy award! ELP had a lot to do to create the piece you know? We disagreed on lots of issues but in order to keep the ball rolling we just moved on with the next one, which was in fact “Trilogy”.

I thought it was about this time in ELPs life that we had learned how to tolerate each other, how to write together, and how to be very constructive. “Trilogy” is a complete mish-mash, you go from one thing to another; there’s a Bolero, and then ‘Sherriff’ – which is kind of western bar jangly piano playing on it. I don’t think you could find such a complete diversity buying a record like that these days. We were very much inspired by our audience accepting that.

Actually Sony Records are going to re release it in 5.1 – they’re doing a wonderful package with out-takes and everything – I’ve just competed doing the liner notes.

We moved on again then, and started the makings of “Brain Salad Surgery” which was a step further.

After that I worked on my piano concerto played by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, and actually it’s still being performed all over the world - Australia, Poland, and in October I’m going to East Coast America to do some conducting – Jeffrey Beagle, who’s a great classical pianist, is going to perform it then, and I’m going to perform some other new works of mine.

HR : Are you likely to release a recording of it?

KE : Yes I guess it might be ... I’ll let you know. It’s a dauntless compelling challenge. I have conducted and played with orchestras before and I’m very thankful to have classical guys around me who are able to point me in the right direction. I was never classically trained. I started off playing by ear and then having private piano lessons, and then basically teaching myself how to orchestrate. I’m still taking lessons in conducting and I don’t think I’ll ever get to the standard of the greats like Dudamel or Bernstein – I don’t think I’ll ever be able to conduct Wagner, but so long as I’ve written the piece of music I think I’ve got an idea of roughly how it goes! [laughs] Thankfully I’ve worked with Orchestras who are very kind to me.

HR : Do you enjoy the performance as much as the writing?

KE : Actually I enjoy the writing more than the performance. I know I wrote an Autobiography called ‘’Pictures Of An Exhibitionist” but that’s the last thing that I am really. I’m pretty much a recluse. I’ve got my Norton 850 and I’m happy ...

HR : I was going to ask you about the Theatrics on stage – Why Knives and swords? Was there something which influenced the decision to include that as a part of your performance, or was it purely born out of frustration from working with Carl and Greg?

KE : [laughs] Well you see in the 60s, I toured with bands like The Who, and I watched Pete Townshend; I toured with Jimi Hendrix too, and I thought that if the piano is going to take off then the best thing to do is like really learn to become a great piano or and keyboard player, but I also thought “that aint gonna last with a Rock audience in a Rock situation”, mainly because the piano or Hammond organ - well from the audience you look up on stage and it’s just a piece of furniture! Whereas the guitar player can come on stage and he’s got this thing strapped around his neck, he can wander up and down the sage, check out the chicks, and he’s the guy that has all the fun. The organ player meanwhile is just seated there at a piece of furniture like he’s sat at a table. So a lot of what I did was for the excitement of it, and I suppose to exemplify the fact that I could play it back to front. A lot of my comic heroes like Victor Borg, Dudley Moore – they all came into the whole issue too.

I’ll tell you this ok? I once went to see a band at the Marquee club when it was in Wardour Street in London, and I can’t remember this guys name now, but he played Hammond organ - he was a very narky looking fellow, and went on stage wearing a schoolboys outfit which caused a lot of the girls in the audience to chuckle. I stood at the back of the Marquee club and watched his performance - a lot of the stops and things were falling off his organ, so he had a screwdriver to keep holding certain keys down, and then suddenly the back of his Hammond fell off – and I don’t think it was intentional, because he looked really quite distraught, but he caused so much laughter from the audience. I went away thinking “there is something there, I’m going to use that” ... I actually thought it would be a great idea to stick a knife into the organ, rather than a screw driver -the reason for this was to hold down a 4th and a 5th , or maybe any 5th, or say a ‘C’ and an ‘F’ or a ‘G’, whatever, and then be able to go off stage, take the power off the Hammond, so that it would just die away - it would go ‘’whoooaaaaaaaoooooh’’; and then I’d plug it back in and it would power back up and create like the noise of an air-raid siren, and of course the drummer and bass player would react to that. It got really interesting. We actually had a road manager at the time by the name of ‘’Lemmy’’ who went on to be with Motorhead. He gave me 2 Hitler Youth Daggers and said [best Lemmy impression] “here! If you’re going to use a knife, use a real one!”

So that was the start of all that, and people loved it, and actually Hendrix loved it too – somewhere in his archive collection there must be some footage of me almost throwing a knife at him [laughs] .

The phase for it was my objection to the 3 assassinations they had in the USA - JFK, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King - I’d been to America once and seen how quick the Police were to pull out their guns to a woman parking her car illegally – so bizarre. The 2nd amendment will not go away, as much as they want it to. I’ll reserve further comments on that but that was really the whole objective. I was banned from the Albert Hall for burning a painting of the Stars and Stripes, which took some time to get over, but everything worked and they allowed me live in California now. [laughs]

HR : What about the Manticore Hall show, also released this year, presumably you kept burning paintings off the agenda there? Was it good to work with Greg again? and then the complete ELP line up with Carl at High Voltage?

KE : No! [laughs], and Yes ... Actually that was recorded in 2010 and was an idea set up by a manager associate of mine, and an agent in California. I met up with them and they asked how I felt about doing a Duo tour to lead up to the High Voltage Festival in London. They convinced me that it was a big festival ... and the idea was to have ELP on the Sunday night there. So the lead up was a duo tour with myself and Greg because Carl was off with Asia at the time. It had its ups and downs, but it did eventually work very well and it was a very good warm up to doing that Festival date as the 3 of us. I don’t think there was any intention of us going any further with it. I think the resulting “ELP at High Voltage” was good and also I think the album ‘’Live At Manticore Hall’’ - although it wasn’t released until this year, because Greg initially didn’t want it to be released at all - is good stuff too. These things happen with bands, it takes a while for us to appreciate how good what we do is, sometimes.

HR : You’d had quite a break from ELP at that point, KE : [interrupts] I wouldn’t say that I ever take a break, if I can put it so lightly, and it’s not lightly, as to say that it’s kind of like a hobby – if I feel so inclined I will go to the piano and will write a piece of music. If that piece of music seems to warrant being augmented by anyone then I find the right people to do it. I had a great experience last year of going to Japan and hearing the Tokyo Philharmonic play the whole of “Tarkus” – a 90 piece orchestra – I’ve never been so blown away. I worked with a Japanese arranger on the orchestration, and actually used it on an album which I recorded with Marc Bonilla, and Terje Mikkelsen called “Three Fates Project”, which actually didn’t make it anywhere and I don’t know why. It’s a great album, very orchestral – I did the version of “Tarkus” on that complete with the Munich symphony orchestra. I changed it around slightly – I had Irish fiddle players coming in – I suppose, really you could refer to it as being World Music – it’s probably a great example of that. It’s not based upon the ELP solo piano composition that we did on ELPs first album. I don’t think the record companies knew how to market it you know? Was it classical? was it rock? It has the complete amalgamation of group and orchestra. Wonderfully recorded. It really is quite mind blowing. Not that I want to blow my own trumpet! Maybe if the art work had been a little more dynamic then it would have caught people’s attention. I agreed on it, but you see our names and they’re really small - I don’t think people realised who’s album it was.

HR : Have you any plans to perform it in the UK, or other parts of Europe? Scandanavia, for Blackmoon fans? Any tour plans at all?

KE : The thing is, first of all, that the direction that I am going at the moment is very orchestral. And that does take an awful lot of planning. As I say I’m going to play with the South Shore Symphony on the East Coast of America, but touring with an orchestra, as I learnt back in the late 70s with ELP, is very expensive. It doesn’t make any money if I’m perfectly honest. If someone was to come up with the cost of shipping the instruments about then ... but it’s not like dishing out the orchestral charts to an orchestra and then have The Moody Blues come on and play, and the strings do all the backing stuff, you know! This music is the music which I’ve written and really demands quite a lot of practicing.

For instance when I was recording “Three Fates” with the Munich Symphony, in Munich, I was interviewed during the break after the first day by a radio station, and they asked ‘’how do you think its going?’’ and I said “well if the orchestra are still here with me in 5 days time, I should be very surprised” [laughs] . I remember on about the 4th day , one of the members of the orchestra had obviously heard the radio broadcast. As and I walked out into the garden at break time, I passed one of the Trombonists who was smoking a cigarette and he said ‘’well we’re still here”...

There is an awful lot that can go wrong, of course, especially with orchestras. The copyist can sometimes write a b natural rather than a b flat, or they can get a whole load of other things wrong – and that’s what happened this particular recording.

Marc Bonilla actually came up to me on a break and said “I think you should go up to the control room, and look at the score mate, something doesn’t sound right”, so you can imagine the look on my face! So off I go I’m up in the control room; radio through to the rehearsal room and start going through the score and sure enough it was wrong. I don’t know why I hadn’t heard that before, but it was down to the copyists – its the same with writing a book and you give it away to the editor – they can still mess it up – as copyists do with music. And sometimes you’ll get the orchestra, and they’ll just play what’s written rather than put their hands up and say “that doesn’t sound right”, for fear of retribution I suppose – so it is frustrating, but it’s very rewarding.

The Mourning Sun, taken from “Three Fates”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PcOI8nDDeU

It’s been quite funny with some of these albums that Cherry Red are rereleasing. I happened to give one to my eldest son. I gave him ‘’Honky’’ and he came up to me and he said ‘’here Dad I’ve been listening to the Honky album and it’s really really good!’’ He and his friends are in their 40s now and they’ve all complimented me on it, so that’s the biggest compliment I could have really.

I was recording that album when he was about 4 years old. [laughs]

HR : Is that your favourite then? Honky?

KE : Oh yeah – I had so much fun making that album and I think it shows in it’s humour. It was great. The objective behind it was that I wanted to record with all the local bohemian people - I was living at the time in Nassau in the Bahamas. I didn’t really experience a lot of problems with the black bohemians – I got on great with them all. There were some great musicians, and I wanted to do a very ethnic album to bring to the attention of the world that we can all get on! I used to drive around Nassau in a limited edition Jeep and kids would run out and yell at me ‘’Honky!’’ and I’d wave thinking ‘that’s kind of fun’. Then, when I worked in the studio I noticed that the black musicians would all greet themselves with the ‘’N’’ word – we can’t say that now - says in an accent “Yo N ...” – so I thought ‘well if they can do that I am going to call myself a Honky!’ And they were horrified!! [laughs] So I bluntly spoke to them and I said “listen you guys call yourselves ‘’Ns’’ so I’m calling myself a Honky, and damn it I’m going to call the album that too!” [laughs]. It was a lot of fun.

*** Honky - a derogatory term for a Caucasian person.

HR : We must get something down about Blackmoon – given that this is the title of the Magazine!

KE : [laughs] ELP, Blackmoon. *sighs* Well ... I remember from this time that Carl Palmer and myself wanted to have a different producer.

It was all well and good that Greg produced all the other albums but – I don’t think it’s a very good idea for any band ; if they’re involved in the writing and the playing, and then one band member decides he’s going to be a producer too. You need someone objective to come in and say that they think it’s too long, or whatever ... whereas if you have a part in writing and playing, its obvious that you’re going to pay more attention to it, and Carl and myself really wanted an objective opinion about how to make it work. The producers that we auditioned were very familiar with ELPs work and were really considerate in how they constructed it. The main consideration - and I think really it was a difficult time because Greg could see that his role as being a former producer of ELP was going to be taken away from him. Whereas for me I felt that Greg’s attention should be more on the writing and the lyrics and other aspects. There is so much that one had to pay attention to when running a band. There are the legal, accounting, and everything else – and above all you have the creative aspect and you really cannot go into a studio and become the producer and wear all these different hats. It doesn’t work, I don’t allow that even on my own music writing. I’m quite happy to go in and play my music as long as I trust that the guy behind the music desk, and the mixing desk, are on the same page, know who I am, and what I’ve done before – so at least there is a rapport where the engineer can see what you are trying to do and he will say – “ah you know what, why don’t we try and go for that you did on Trilogy - lets try it!” You have to work with people who understand you and then you can just sit back and work on it , accept a good idea, be pushed to your limits. The thing is with Greg - he felt that he had been removed from the situation which he had most power and pride in. Whereas I think most pride he should keep as the fact that he s a damn good singer and has written some great music. If you want a great team you have to designate to the right person.

That’s why I had Lemmy as my roadie. If I hadn’t had Lemmy the knives wouldn’t have come out [laughs]. We owe Lemmy a lot! HR : Absolutely. You two should record a duet! Which Instrument would you choose? Moog, Melotron, Hammond?

KE : Hmmmmmmmm. Piano. I’ve always written on the piano. I do have a mandolin hanging on the wall here, which is out of tune at the moment. You wouldn’t want to hear me play this mandolin ...

HR : Because it’s out of tune, or just in general?

KE : [laughs] because it’s out of tune but even if it was in tune I don’t know if it would work. It looks great hanging on the wall though ...

[Keith and I were great pals - I miss him <3]

#keith emerson #lemmy #elp #prog #prog rock

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